


For the Love of a Country

by thenerdyindividual



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Princess Diaries Fusion, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Marriage of Convenience, Princes & Princesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 03:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12224901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/pseuds/thenerdyindividual
Summary: Roxy is ready to take her rightful place on the throne, now that her grandmother is stepping down. The catch? She must marry first, and there's another woman coming for the throne. Can she navigate the political coup, and emerge with her heart intact? (A Princess Diaries 2 AU).





	1. Chapter 1

The intercom squeals to life, jerking Roxy out of the light doze she had managed to find somewhere over Toulouse. She pushes herself upright in her seat and brushes the sweaty hair off her face, where it’s sticking in clumps.  
“We are now entering our final descent into Genovia Royal Airport.” The Captain announces over the speakers, voice tinny, “Welcome home Princess Roxanne.”  
Roxy pushes up the shutter on the jet window so she can watch their descent, and pulls her hair back into a ponytail. Chances are by the time she reaches Pyrus, paparazzi will be waiting, ready to pounce at any chance to splash an unflattering photo of her across the tabloids. A ponytail will hide the fact she hadn’t had time to shower between graduation and boarding the jet.  
The tarmac rushes towards the jet, and they land with a small bump. The jet rumbles down the runway, engines groaning as they fight to slow down. The jet finally reaches its stopping point, and Roxy stands as the captain once again gets on the intercom to announce they have landed. Down on the tarmac, Roxy can see air traffic control rushing to navigate the jet so she can descend.  
Roxy snags her backpack, and slips it over one shoulder. She places sunglasses on top of her head, at the ready so she can descend to the tarmac without any sly photographers catching the slight bags under her eyes not yet concealed after a three hour flight.  
She approaches the front of the jet, and The Captain steps out of his cabin in order to see her off. Once she’s an arm’s length away, he drops into a deep bow.  
“It was an honor Princess,” he announces, “I hope to be of use to you in the future.”  
Roxy smiles as brightly as she can, and brushes her fingertips against his shoulder. “There’s no need to bow Captain Kelley. You got me here in one piece so I’m happy.”  
“Of course,” he says with a serious nod and straightens back up, “I wish you luck in your future endeavours.”  
“Thank you.” Roxy laughs and gestures to the door.  
Captain Kelley releases the lock on the door, and it lowers the stairs with a soft hiss of hydraulics. Roxy drops her sunglasses to cover her face, and steps out onto the top step. The fresh air hits her, and once again she’s struck by how clean it smells in comparison to London.  
She spots Merlin waiting for her down by the car, and instantly her shoulders relax. Head held high, she descends the steps and crosses the few feet from the bottom to Merlin.  
He gives her a professional nod, and opens the door for her. She ducks under the roof and sits straight against the back of the seat, waiting for Merlin to close the door. He slams it shut as soon as she’s settled, crosses to the other side, and takes the seat next to her. The car door slams shut again, and the driver pulls away.  
Roxy glances at Merlin sideways, and any sense of professionalism drops. She throws herself across the seat, and gives Merlin a tight hug. It doesn’t matter that he’s head of security, he’s practically an uncle to her after all the years he’s watched her back.  
“Oh it’s good to see you,” Merlin groans, squeezing her back “How are you?”  
“Better after I shower,” she sits back, “More nervous than I thought I would be.”  
“Understandable,” Merlin says with a shrug, “You are about to take on more responsibility than you ever have before.”  
Roxy nods absently and relaxes against the seat. There’s no returning to her life in London after this ride. She will always and forever be cemented as Genovian Royalty.   
The countryside rolls by outside the window. Miles of pear orchards stretch away from the road in all directions. The orderly lines turn into blurs as they rush past, and it make Roxy dizzy as she watches.   
Interspersed among the orchards, are fields. Some hold cattle, others horses. More often than not, the fields hold sheep. Green pastures are dotted with fluffy white shapes. They’re clouds on a green sky.  
The orchards and pastures finally give way to houses as they approach Pyrus. The neighborhoods are spread away from each other, like the houses are afraid to touch. Lawns are huge, almost as big as the pastures they drove past earlier. No matter how many times Roxy takes this drive, she suspects she will never stop expecting to see sheep milling about.   
The further they drive, the closer the houses crowd. Lawns are smaller, but more children are outside. People stroll along the sidewalk, harried mothers stack shopping bags on top of prams, and dogs strain at leashes. The city hums with life.  
The car turns a corner and they’re met with a loud roar. It looks like someone shook a beehive, then threw it against a wall. Everywhere Roxy looks, people are standing seven deep to try to get a glimpse of the royal procession. Flags are abound. Huge ones fly at the back of the crowd, cutting arcs against the bright blue of the sky. The people squished at the front of the pack wave tiny ones that can be picked up at one of the few tourist shops scattered through the city.  
“Holy shit.” Roxy breathes, drawing a chuckle from Merlin.  
“The people love royalty.”  
“Yes but they don’t exactly know me. It’s been one visit a year for five years.”  
“It doesn’t matter,” Merlin says, “The royalty are figureheads, and with your grandmother stepping down...” he trails off.  
The crowd follows them all the way to the palace gates and the noise is suddenly cut off as the gates close behind them. The silence is deafening.  
The winding driveway cuts it’s way through the lawn. The granite of the castle reflects the sun’s warmth, and Roxy can feel the familiarity of it in her bones. Five summers in a place is enough to make it homey, despite what Roxy told Merlin.  
The car comes to a stop, and Merlin hops out. Then he crosses over to Roxy’s side, and opens the door. The crier, taps his staff against the ground twice, bringing the attention of any nearby person to the car.  
“Now announcing Roxanne Diana Williams Morton, Princess of Genovia.” he announces, and taps his staff again to indicate the announcements are over.  
Merlin escorts her safely from the car, up the stairs, and into the entrance hall. Roxy groans, and lets her backpack fall to the immaculate stone floor.   
“Now is that anyway to enter a room young lady?” a disapproving voice asks.  
Roxy startles, and turns to find the source of the voice. Waiting for her, smiling, is Her Grandma. Roxy rushes over and is swept into a tight hug.  
“It’s good to see you my darling,” Her Grandma says. She clasps Roxy’s shoulders and steps back, “Let me look at you.”  
“I’m the same as ever,” Roxy responds, “I missed you.”  
“I missed you too.”  
“Where’s Sofie? I don’t see her anywhere.” Roxy asks.  
“She was just behind me..” Her Grandma trails off as the sound of claws scrabbling on marble, drifts to them.   
Sofie, the big black poodle, comes sliding around the corner and skids to a stop right in front of Roxy with her tail thumping against the floor. Roxy falls to her knees and digs her fingers into the curls behind Sofie's ears. Sofie woofs happily and shoves her face into Roxy’s for a good sniff. After several minutes of babbling nonsense, Roxy gives Sofie one last pat on the head and stands.  
“Let's take you to your rooms shall we?” Her Grandma suggests, holding her arm out for Roxy to take, “I’m afraid your new suite isn’t finished being renovated yet, but that’s the price you pay for an artist.”  
Roxy shrugs, “I don’t mind. I spent the last four years sharing a tiny dorm loo with three other girls.”  
Roxy grabs her backpack and they stroll off down the hallway, arm in arm. Her Grandma’s heels make a satisfying click against the stone with every step. Portraits glare disapprovingly at Roxy as she passes under them. Great great uncle Sandor is by far the most severe, with his piercing gray eyes and bushy eyebrows. Whenever she passes that portrait, Roxy has an urge to stick her tongue out at it.  
They reach her rooms, and her Grandma pushes open the double doors. They swing inward, exposing a small sitting room. Roxy unlinks her arm and drops her backpack once again, this time by the small sofa. Sofie comes trotting in, and immediately makes a beeline for the bedroom. She launches herself into the center of the bed, turns three times, and settles.  
“Now that we’re here I will let you get settled. As much as I hate to remind you, the members of parliament insisted on us holding a ball tonight to celebrate your return.” Her Grandma says with an annoyed purse of her lips.  
“So I need to be ready for a full gala by seven?” Roxy asks.  
“I’m afraid so. I will have a selection of the crown jewels, and a few gowns brought to you,” Her Grandma says and presses a kiss to Roxy’s cheek, “it's good to see you my darling.”  
The doors swing shut behind her on her way out.  
Roxy sighs, and toes off her sneakers. She was hoping for a nap. But with a selection of jewels and gowns arriving she barely has time for a shower.  
She pulls a towel out of a cupboard, and heads for the bathroom. She stands under the jets for as long as she can, just letting the water rinse free the plane-grime. Then she washes her hair and steps out of the shower.  
Once she dries off, she twists her hair into the towel and shrugs on a fluffy robe. She flops down on the bed next to Sofie, and closes her eyes. Just a few minutes alone would be nice.  
There’s a knock shortly before the doors swing open. A rack of gowns in every color is wheeled in, and the seamstress is lost behind the clouds of tulle and satin. She parks the rack in the middle of the bedroom then floats around the corner so she’s facing Roxy. She’s the same woman who’s dressed Roxy for every other major occasion at the palace, and as always she looks about a million years old. Little spectacles sit perched on the end of her nose.  
“Princess Roxanne,” she says squinting, “It’s been too long.”  
“I haven’t needed a custom dress Ms. Celine.” Roxy announces unapologetically.  
Ms.Celine nods like Roxy just said something profound, and turns back to her rack of gowns. She parses through them slowly, examining every seam and sequin. Finally she removes three dresses from the rack. One is a purple so light that it almost looks like a shaded ivory dress, it hangs like liquid,and the beading travels into a smaller point at the waist. The second is a deep sea-green and has a huge satin skirt. And the last is made from thunder clouds and smoke with a solid under-dress and a fine layer of tulle.  
Ms. Celine holds each one up to Roxy, and contemplates each pick. The second dress is shoved unceremoniously back onto the rack. Then Ms. Celine holds the first and third up against Roxy in rapid succession. Finally she nods and places the grey dress back on the rack as well.  
“Silver with black accents for the jewels. Gold is over done. I dressed people that way in the fifties.” Ms. Celine announces.  
“Thank you Ms. Celine.” Roxy says, trying to end this meeting as quickly as she can.   
Ms. Celine gets behind the rack without another word, and wheels it out with surprising speed considering how slowly she did everything else. The doors don’t even close all the way once she leaves, because the jewellers arrive at that precise moment. It takes another hour to select earrings, bracelet, finger rings, and a tiara.   
Roxy is left to her own devices for hair and makeup. She curls her hair, parts it, rolls it from her forehead back, and twists it into a bun with curls showing. Makeup is less of an ordeal. She keeps it clean and minimal.  
By the time the dress is zipped, she’s almost ten minutes late. She runs from her room, skirt gathered in one hand, heels in the other, and finds the entrance room where Her Grandma is already waiting.  
“Sorry. I didn’t want to be late.” she explains.  
Her Grandma shakes her head, and places a comforting hand on Roxy’s shoulder, “Queens are never late, my dear, everyone else is simply early. Now put your shoes on and we will step out.”  
Roxy crams her feet into the heels, and straightens up again. She smooths down the wrinkles in the skirt, and takes Her Grandma’s arm again.  
The doors swing open to a blare of trumpets, and they step out onto the balcony overlooking the ballroom. The crowd below erupts into applause. Roxy smiles so wide it feels like her cheeks are going to split, and waves. They stand there smiling and waving for ages, and they finally split from each other to descend on either side of the double staircase.  
The second Roxy’s foot touches the floor, she is beset with men. They crowd over each other, trying to gain her attention. Charlie fucking Hesketh emerges the champion. He oozes pretentiousness from every one of his smug pours. He bows low, offering her a smarmy smile.  
“Would you care to dance your highness?”  
“I would love to my lord.” Roxy answers, hiding her poisonous glare behind politeness.   
He takes her hand in his and Roxy can feel the slime transferring. The crowd of men part before them like the red sea. Roxy catches a glimpse of elaborate cakes on the side of the floor and as Charlie puts his hand on her waist she can’t help but think that she would much rather be stuffing herself.  
The quartet plays. Charlie leads her through a few bars of a waltz and it is nothing like a movie. There’s no breathless giggling, or delight. Instead Charlie stomps across the dance floor, out of step with everyone else. His cologne strangles Roxy whenever she tries to breathe.   
It’s almost a relief when the time comes that someone can politely cut in. Almost. Charlie passes her hand over to Lord Basso. He resembles a hairy soup chicken. His skin hangs off of frail bones, and his ear and nose hair sprout in tufts.  
“I do so hope you are going to enjoy your time here Princess.”  
And he spits when he talks.  
“Thank you, Lord Basso,” Roxy grits her teeth, “Are you continuing to reside in Parliament?”  
“Let’s not speak of politics. You shouldn't need to worry about that Princess.” he assures her with a pat on the waist.  
“May I ask why?” Roxy demands but the song ends. Lord Basso smiles, bows to her, and escorts her off the floor. Roxy has the distinct impression he timed it that way intentionally.  
Once again potential dance partners scramble over each other like puppies, vying for her favor.   
“If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I am going to get a drink,” Roxy announces, and sweeps her way through the crowd to the bar, “Pabo Amargo please.”  
The bartender passes her an amber colored drink in a short round glass a few seconds later. She sips it and the alcohol tingles down to her fingertips. Having downed a drink, she prepares to reenter the dance floor.  
There’s a loud clang, and her tiara is ripped from her hair.   
“Shit!” Roxy whirls around, desperate to find the missing jewels. A startled server holds up an apologetic hand.  
“I am so sorry Princess. I was not watching where I was going.” he stammers.  
A different hand presents itself in front of her face and, hooked on its fingertips is her tiara. She breathes a sigh of relief.  
“It’s okay. Nothing was broken, I wasn’t hurt. No harm, no foul.” she explains.  
The lord holding her tiara flicks his hands dismissively at the server, and Roxy bristles slightly at the attitude. The server bows and scuttles away. With one distraction dealt with, she finally turns to address the lord holding her tiara.  
“Thank you for catching it.” Roxy says, exaggerating her gratefulness.  
The lord places it back on her head, and puffs himself up importantly. His white hair and glasses gleam under the lighting, “You should be more careful with that Princess. One day, someone may try to take it away from you.”  
“I hope not.” Roxy says, startled.  
Another young lord whisks her away at that moment so she can’t quite make out the last sentence spoken, but it sounds suspiciously like “Someone like me.”  
The young lord is a worse dancer than Charlie, but he's far more companionable. He dips her aggressively, almost dropping her once. When they complete a turn he laughs at himself as he stumbles over his own feet.  
He stumbles for the fifth time and almost knocks Roxy over, and finally someone cuts in. The lord bows out, obviously being a good sport about his own capabilities, and lets her new partner take over.  
Her breath catches in her throat. In front of her is the most beautiful she’s ever seen. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, highlighting high cheekbones and a sharp hooked nose. Her dark suit accents her dark-tan skin, and slim frame. Roxy can feel herself turning into a babbling idiot.   
The woman smiles at her, and steps forward. She takes Roxy by the hand and waist, and leads her into the first few steps of the dance.   
“Your timing is impeccable. Thank you.” Roxy sighs.  
“You are welcome your highness.” the woman answers.  
“Roxy, please,” Roxy says quickly,”And you are?”  
“Gazelle. Just Gazelle.” she answers.  
They step together perfectly, and Gazelle sweeps Roxy into a turn. And ROxy steps on Gazelles’ foot.  
“Fuck,” Roxy gasps, “Did I hurt you?”  
“No, Roxy. My shoes are step proof.” Gazelle assures her, and leads her into another turn that doesn’t end in disaster.  
“Well I am glad to see that my apparent clumsiness hasn’t affected your dancing ability.” Roxy jokes.  
“You can step on my feet any time.” Gazelle whispers.  
Then Charlie’s little brother cuts in. Gazelle steps back respectfully, and is lost in the crowd.


	2. Chapter 2

Roxy stirs a few cubes of sugar into her tea, and takes it to her window to sip. From her vantage point, she can see the gardens spread out before her. Pear trees, grass, roses, and when she squints she can just make out the fountain in the center. It’s a beautiful sight to greet the day with.  
There’s a knock on one of her doors, so she rubs the last of the sleep from her eyes and straightens up.  
“Come in!” she calls.  
The doors are pushed open, and two lady’s maids come scurrying in. They stop a respectful distance from Roxy and curtsy deeply. Roxy glances between them.  
“You are…?” she prompts.  
“Brigitte, highness.” the blonde one introduces herself, and curtsies again.  
“Brigitta.” the brunette introduces, and drops into another curtsy as well.  
“Well, Brigitte, Brigitta, I’m Roxy. And really, there’s no need to bow like that.” Roxy waves her free hand reassuringly.  
“You don’t like how we bow?” Brigitte asks, eyes wide.  
“Oh! No! It isn’t that I don’t like--” Roxy starts but is immediately cut off.  
“Would you prefer it like this?” Brigitte steps one foot out and bows towards it. Brigitta follows her lead.  
“No--” Roxy starts, again.  
“Then maybe like this?” Brigitta asks. She steps her one foot back in, bows straight down, curls one arm into her chest, and holds the other straight out to the side. Brigitte watches her complete the bow, and joins her.  
Roxy can’t get a word in edgewise. The two women, perfectly in synch, switch seamlessly back and forth between the two styles of bows. Roxy watches, almost hypnotised by the show. Really it is too early for over-eager maids. She needs coffee if she’s going to have to put up with this all day.  
There’s another knock, and Roxy jumps at the chance to let in a distraction, “Yes! Come in!”  
Merlin pushes his way into the room. He is completely unphased by the women, and walks straight by them. Roxy admires his resolve.  
“I have a message from your Grandmother. She wants to meet you in the throne room in an hour.” Merlin announces.  
“Thank you Merlin,” Roxy says and leans around him to where her lady’s maids are still bowing, “um…” she whispers, “Is there a way to turn off the bowing?”  
Merlin snorts and turns around to face the bobbing maids, “Enough bowing ladies. Return to your chores.”  
It’s like he flipped a switch. The maids immediately stop, nod once, and scatter. Roxy sighs in relief.  
“The throne room in an hour.” Merlin reminds her and moves off towards the door, heading back to whatever it is he does when he isn’t guarding her specifically. Roxy catches his arm before he can go.  
“Can I explore the palace a little bit? I want to get they lay of the land again.” she asks.  
“Of course you can,” Merlin answers, “But try to stay out of trouble.”  
“Yes Merlin.” Roxy answers dutifully.  
Merlin rolls his eyes, heads back towards the doors, and repeats “One hour.”  
Roxy sets her mug down on the tiny breakfast table, and heads into her bedroom. She rescues her sneakers from the bottom of her closet, and slips them on. On her way out, she grabs her mug, planning on making a run to the kitchen for coffee.  
The kitchen staff more or less ignores her when she doesn’t demand anything of them. They simply go back to cooking, and Roxy heads for the coffee maker wedged in the corner of the counter space. She pours herself a full mug and takes a sip, waiting for the caffeine to hit. Satisfied, she heads out of the kitchen to explore.  
She recognizes the hallways around the kitchen. She’s trekked this trail enough times to know where she is going. A left takes her back to her rooms, a right takes her out to the gardens. Going straight ahead leads her towards the throne room.  
She heads straight. She hasn’t had much of a reason to explore that area in previous summers. Then, she was still training to learn the differences between forks. Now that she is officially the heir to Genovia, she wants to start familiarizing herself with the passages.  
As expected, the hallway in front of her spits her into the passage in front of the throne room. Across from her is a solid wall, draped with a brilliant yellow tapestry depicting some battle long since lost to memory. To her right are the doors to the throne room, and to her left is a passage way she’s never been down. She makes a left.  
She wanders aimlessly down the hall. The decorations are scarce compared to the other palace hallways. It’s miles and miles of grey marble. There’s the occasional tapestry but the embroidery is barely discernable. Her eyes are so used to the endless nothing, that she almost misses it.  
There’s a vestibule leading off the passageway. There’s a tiny spiral staircase leading up to a solid wooden door. Judging by the cross hanging from it, it’s from when Genovia split from Catholic France to form its own Protestant government.  
Roxy glances left and right, waiting to see if someone comes around the corner. Once she’s sure no one will notice her, she darts up the staircase and opens the door. She slips inside, and lets the door close softly behind her.  
It opens into a chamber lit by a candleabra. There are two small stained glass windows on either side of an altar, and a bust rests on a shelf to the left.  
Roxy sets her mug down next to the bust and runs her fingers along the paintings on the walls. There are depictions of men all over. One in particular, splashed lifesize across one wall, is holding a cross. There’s another cross carved into the stone between the two windows, and Roxy’s investigation eventually brings her back to the altar. She places her hand on top of the bust, intending to tilt it to get a better look. There’s a soft click, and the painting of the man bearing the cross swings away. It opens into another chamber.  
“Fuck yes.” Roxy whispers and steps cautiously into the secondary chamber.  
This one is dark. Light filters in from somewhere but there’s no candelabra to light her way. She can hear the whisper of voices coming from around the corner. She follows the noise for several feet, surprised at how deep it goes.  
Finally she comes to a stop. There’s a wall stopping her forward progression, but the voices are much louder. She shuffles along the wall, looking for the source of the noise, and set just at eye level is a brass grate. Curious, she slides back the solid panel behind it. The room is flooded with light, and the voice come through clear as a bell.  
On the other side of the wall is the old Council Room. Roxy is betting that Genovia’s first king had built the vestibule so he could pretend to pray when spying on his council. Very tricky of him. When Genovia converted to a parliamentary system in the 1800s, the council room was adapted to chambers of parliament.  
Fat old men sit in rows around the walls, with synthetic white wigs perched on top of their wigs. One is finishing a full rant. His arms gesticulate wildly as he makes his points. He’s yelling about taxes, and welfare. Roxy hates him already. Finally he winds down and delivers his final line.  
“Thank you Lord Mavery. Your comments have been registered and will be discussed at a later date,” a voice announces, “Viscount King, you have the floor.”  
A man descends from one of the upper rows. Roxy squints to make him out, and she recognizes the man who caught her tiara at the ball. When he reaches the center floor, he smooths out his robe and turns to face the other men against the walls, and presumably, her Grandma.  
He clears his throat, and settles in “As we all know, the twenty-first birthday oh an heir to the Genovian Bloodline is of great public significance. It signifies that this young person is eligible to assume the throne.”  
“Indeed we are aware of this Viscount,” the first voice responds and Roxy spots it’s owner on the left of the third row on the right side, “The Queen has already indicated that Princess Roxanne intends to learn more at her side before she assumes the throne.”  
“It was not Princess Roxanne to whom I was referring,” Viscount King announces smugly, “King Chevalier was the Great Great Grandfather of the Valentine’s, my sister’s bloodline. So as of the twentieth of October of last year, on the occasion of her twenty-first birthday, another member of the Genovian Bloodline became eligible to assume the throne.”  
Roxy’s stomach lurches. Another heir? She can’t stop the small indignant “What?” that escapes her.  
“My niece, Lady Valentine,” Viscount King finishes, and turns towards Roxy’s Grandma, “My niece’s father, was my wife’s bother. Therefore, Your Majesty, I am pleased to announce my niece is ready to take her place as Genovia’s rightful ruler.”  
The entire room falls silent on that bombshell. Everyone is in shock. No one has tried to depose the royal line since the 1500s. The silence stretches, bubblegum thick across the room, and Roxy is almost worried no one will stand for her reign.  
“Shut up!” her Grandma snaps and Roxy almost smacks her face into the grate in her surprise, “I mean-- I mean--” her Grandma scrambles to cover for her outburst.  
“Shut up, doesn’t always mean shut up,” the first man rushes in to help, “It can mean Oh my! Gee Whizz! Wow!”  
“But isn’t Princess Roxanne first in line to ascend the throne?” another member of Parliament pipes up and Roxy could kiss him for trying to defend her. Strange fake tan and all.  
“Not yet,” the member sitting right beside fake-tan answers, “Genovian Law clearly states that a Princess must marry before she can ascend the throne.”  
“We have never enforced that law,” Roxy’s Grandma cries, sounding every inch the Queen she is, “A man doesn’t have to marry in order to to be king! This is the twenty-first century for heaven’s sake. My Granddaughter should have the same rights as any man!”  
“Yeah!” Roxy cheers and gasps in horror as she realizes she might have just exposed her hidden position. Confused grumbles go up around the room, and many of the Parliament members look around the room trying to find the source of the voice.  
“Besides,” her Grandma says, drawing attention back to her as she addresses Viscount King, “if we decide to enforce this archaic law, Viscount, your niece will be forced to marry as well if she wants to ascend. Surely you see the issue with this law.”  
Lord Basso stands from his seat and his court wig only emphasizes his sagging skin. The tufts of hair stand out starkly as well. He tilts his head snobbishly, “Genovia shall have no Queen, unless it has a King,” he announces, hairy soup-chicken bastard, “That has been the law of the land for the last thousand years. Princess Roxanne is not qualified because she is unmarried.”  
He turns to face Roxy’s Grandma, “Forgive me your majesty, but not all of us believe that the Princess is the best choice to govern our fair country. We will, of course, enforce this law on Lady Valentine as well. She too must wed in order to be considered eligible.”  
Viscount King nods his acknowledgement to the decision, “We have taken care of that. Lady Valentine has many suitors that we believe would make an excellent king when the time comes.”  
A murmur spreads through the members. It dawns on Roxy, much like on the member of Parliament she assumes, that this was not a spur of the moment decision. Viscount King must have been planning this coup for years. It takes time to find one suitor, let alone several fit for rule. There’s nothing anyone can do about it either. It’s written in the laws.  
“Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Please!” the member of Parliament who first ceded Viscount King the floor speaks up, getting everyone’s attention, “I propose we allow Princess Roxanne… one year. In which time she must marry, or forfeit the crown to young Lady Valentine.”  
“I object!” Viscount King roars and slams his fist on the nearest table to make his point, “I object most strongly!”  
It’s like someone released a bee into the chambers. All the members of parliament are yelling over each other, trying to get their own suggestions in the ring. It’s impossible to tell who is in favor of the proposal and who is against. Someone pipes up with the suggestion of sixty days, and Roxy’s heart stops.  
This announcement draws more contention from parliament. No one can seem to agree on anything. Roxy watches desperately, hoping her Grandma will put her foot down and at least stick with the year deadline. Instead it’s Lord Basso who puts his foot down.  
“Thirty days,” he announces and the room falls silent again, “Princess Roxanne shall have thirty days. At which point she will either be married, or she will forfeit the throne to Lady Valentine.”  
Unable to listen to one more word, Roxy slams the grate closed and leans up against the wall. A group of old men just decided her fate, without any input from her.  
She walks in a daze back to the entrance of the room. The paintings of men that once seemed interesting, and important, are now menacing. She pulls the wall panel shut behind her, and grabs her abandoned mug of coffee. She takes a sip, and the delightful taste of tepid coffee is enough to shock her out of her daze.  
She strides towards the vestibule door, and yanks it open viciously. She stomps down the staircase, turns right, and storms straight for the throne room. A footman practically dives for the floor in order to get out of her way, and Roxy takes the opportunity to pass him her half empty mug without losing a beat.  
The throne room is just ahead in half the time it took her to find the vestibule. She shoves the doors open, and lets them fling wide into the center of the room. Her Grandma is already waiting for her, face drawn. She lifts her head at the dramatic entrance and lets out a soft sigh.  
“Judging by your expression, you heard everything that was decided.” her Grandma says.  
“Yes,” Roxy snaps, “How does parliament expect me to fall in love in thirty days? It’s like… It’s like a huge trick in order to get me to have an arranged marriage or… No. There is no ‘or’ they want me to have an arranged marriage! Are you fucking kidding me? What kind of person agrees to an arranged marriage?”  
At her Grandma’s amused look, Roxy calms for a moment, “Well… you agreed to an arranged marriage.”  
“Yes, I did,” her Grandma agrees, “And it turned out quite splendidly. He was my best friend and we grew very fond of each other.”  
Roxy sighs and slows her anxious pacing, “That’s great Grandma but I would like something more than just fond.”  
“But you don’t have to do this Roxy. You don’t have to become Queen,” her Grandma insists, “It has always been obvious to me that you would be my heir. I let your Uncles raise you because I knew they would simply let you be a child. I wanted you to have as much freedom as you could when you were young, because I knew you would take the throne once I stepped down. But I never considered what you might want. If this is a sign to you, that you don’t want to go through with becoming queen, then I understand.”  
Roxy continues pacing for a few more minutes, considering her options. When her Grandma showed up on their doorstep during her sixteenth birthday, Roxy had rejected the offer outright. She just wanted to figure out life without any of the pressure to lean a certain way. Being a ruler had not interested her in the least. Then she had reconsidered, and agreed.  
Ever since then, her life had revolved around it. She worked twice as hard in school, chose her university based on the poli sci program, and stubbornly stuck it out when so many told her she would be suited to a different major. Even her friends, other than Eggsy who she picked up by surprise, were made based on her eventual rule. It seems surprisingly unfair that after all that, some old Viscount can just sweep in and undo all her hard work.  
She stops pacing and when she looks up, she catches sight of her father’s portrait. She barely remembers him, there’s just faint impressions from when she was quite young. One thing her Uncle James always made sure to tell her, is how he believed in her wholeheartedly. He said that he knew she would rule one day. The portrait stares down at her and she feels the urge to prove to him that he wasn’t wrong about her.  
Roxy rolls her shoulders back and settles into the impeccable posture she only uses when she’s being particularly stubborn. She looks at her Grandma, and sets her jaw. There is no going back now that she’s here.  
“Uncle James always told me that courage is not the absence of fear, it is the belief that there is something more important than the fear itself,” she says, “There are five hundred years of Morton’s on that wall. I will be up there next to my father. I want my chance to make a difference as a ruler.”  
“Spoken like a true queen.” her Grandma says proudly, “You will make an amazing ruler my dear.”


	3. Chapter 3

Roxy pulls her hair back away from her face, and runs some mousse through it to hold it in place. It’s meant to keep it clean and tidy without pulling it back into a ponytail. Her makeup is already complete, so she stands from her dressing table and heads for her closet. She already picked the blue chiffon dress with a jewel neck for this encounter, now she just needs the right jacket. It takes her less than ten seconds to pick the brown-grey tweed blazer with dark brown elbow patches. She doesn’t really understand why it takes Ms. Celine so long to choose clothes, it isn’t particle physics. She slips on caramel colored heeled oxfords, and heads for the entrance hall.  
She’s still having a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that Viscount King and Lady Valentine are coming to stay with them. It frustrates her even more that she has to be there to greet them. It seems counter intuitive to welcome the people trying to depose her.  
She approaches the entrance hall and is surprised when her Grandma isn’t already waiting. She takes the opportunity to check her hair in the mirror one last time. She turns her head upside down, fluffs it a little to let some of the wave back in, and just as she flips it back behind her head her Grandma and Merlin arrive.  
“The limousine is at the gate.” Merlin announces.  
“Ah. Good,” her Grandma says, “The Viscount isn’t staying, nice of him to deign to let us know. Just the niece will be here,” she turns to Merlin, “So I would like you to stick to her like a burr, Merlin. Don’t let her out of your sight.”  
Merlin nods in understanding.   
Her Grandma turns and takes in Roxy for the first time, “Hello my dear.”  
“Hello,” Roxy responds and takes a few steps back, holding her arms out to the side, “So is this appropriate for meeting Lady Valentine and her snake of an uncle?”  
“Absolutely,” her Grandma answers and makes her way to the mirror as well, “And very pretty.”  
“I still can’t believe that parliament invited the woman who is trying to steal my throne, to stay with us. What kind of fucking joke…” Roxy compalins.  
“Oh parliament didn’t invite her.” her Grandma says, fixing her makeup in the mirror.  
“No?” Roxy asks.  
“No. I did. If there’s any more mischief going on, I would prefer it to be right under my nose.”  
“I offered to have her hung by her toes in the courtyard.” Merlin jokes as he moves further into the room.  
“Yeah,” Roxy laughs, “What about Merlin’s suggestion? I like that idea.”  
“Oh hush, the both of you. We will present a solid front, and be so polite they won’t know what to do with us.” her Grandma says and takes a seat to wait.  
They can hear a commotion outside as the limo pulls up.   
“I really don’t want to be nice to this woman. She’s rude, self-centered, entitled.” Roxy rants.  
Her grandma sits up straighter to look at her, “Have you ever met her?”  
“No,” Roxy admits, “But I’m sure she is. Afterall, who tries to steal the crown from someone?”  
A car door opens and they can hear Viscount King’s voice snapping at the valet, “It isn’t a very hard job you know, just open the door before the passengers die of old age!”  
Footsteps start stomping up the stairs and Amelia chirps cheerfully “Hello! I am here to welcome you!”  
“Your staff is slow and incompetent.” he snaps at her.  
“Viscount King, and his niece Lady Valentine.” the crier calls.  
Her Grandma rises from her seat, and smooths down the wrinkles in her skirt. Roxy moves to stand next to her, and hikes a polite smile onto her face.  
The double doors swing open and admit the Viscount and his niece. Roxy can’t quite see the woman passed the Viscount’s puffed up frame. They fan out to the side and Roxy’s heart stops. Standing in front of her in immaculate grey jeans and a leather jacket, is Gazelle.  
“Your majesty,” Viscount King greets politely, and kisses her Grandma’s hand.   
“Chester.” her Grandma responds equally as polite.  
He straightens up and holds his arm out towards Gazelle, “May I introduce my niece Lady Gazelle Valentine.”  
“Gazelle, we are delighted to make your acquaintance.” her Grandma says.  
“The pleasure is mine, your majesty,” Gazelle says with a curtsy, “Thank you for hosting me.”  
“Of course,” her Grandma responds and gestures towards Roxy, “May I present my Granddaughter, Princess Roxanne.”  
“Your highness.” Gazelle greets with that same infuriating curtsy.  
Roxy’s vision is blurry at the edges. She can’t bring herself to look at Gazelle. It takes a sharp “Roxanne” from her grandmother before she can even turn her head.  
“Lady Gazelle.” Roxy says with a half curtsy. Without really thinking about what she’s doing, she slams her foot down on Gazelle’s instep as hard as she can.  
The sharp gasp of pain only settles her nerves a little. As she storms away she catches a small snort from Merlin. Behind her is chaos and she hears Viscount King say something rude about a flamingo dancer.   
“She always does that.” Gazelle jokes.  
“I will personally fetch some ice for that foot.” her Grandma insists, then follows after Roxy, cursing under her breath.  
Roxy pushes the door open to the kitchen and sags against the island. Most of the kitchen staff is gone but two chefs are still there, working on lunch orders. Their eyes glance over her curiously but they don’t ask her what’s wrong.   
She takes a few deep breaths, trying to fight back the roaring in her ears. Eventually she pushes herself away from the island, and looks over at the chefs.  
“Ice cream?” she asks.  
One of the chefs points to the industrial freezer in the corner.  
“Thank you.” Roxy breathes and walks around the island to get to the freezer. She pulls the door open, and grabs the chocolate chip ice cream from the top shelf. She opens a side drawer and retrieves a spoon, then sits down at the island.  
Now that the initial rush of anger is gone, Roxy is left with the burn of humiliation. The whole time at the ball, when she thought a pretty girl was flirting with her, it was about tricking her. Gazelle had no intention of ever following through with the flirting. She just wanted to get in under Roxy’s skin, lower her defenses.  
She takes a vicious bite of the ice cream on her spoon. Not even that is helping soothe away the embarrassment.  
In the calm after the storm, she can’t believe she let her temper get the best of her. Stomping on Gazelle’s foot was rash and irresponsible. It was nothing but more ammunition for parliament. One more thing they can point to and say she isn’t fit for rule. If she can’t remain calm in the face of opposition, how can she remain calm facing down foreign leaders.  
That thought prompts another bite of ice cream.   
The kitchen door swings open behind her and, judging by the sound of heels, her Grandma enters. Sure enough, her Grandma rounds the island and glares at her, disapprovingly.  
“Do you care to inform me what that was all about?” she demands.  
Roxy jabs her spoon back into the carton and takes another bite of ice cream to stall for time. She has no idea how to explain to her Grandma that she was bewitched and bamboozled by Gazelle. Once she swallows her bite, she sighs and sets the carton back down on the counter.  
“I...” Roxy starts and has to snort at her own idiocy, “I have actually met Lady Gazelle before.”  
“Oh?” her Grandma asks, obviously waiting for her to explain further.  
“Yes. I met her at the ball. We danced and I.. flirted. I thought she was flirting back but really she was just trying to gain an advantage.” Roxy explains, and picks up her tub of ice cream again. It isn’t bringing her any comfort. In fact it’s making her feel slightly ill. But she doesn’t know what else to do in this moment.  
Her Grandma is silent for several minutes, processing everything Roxy just told her. Then she stands, walks over to the utensils drawer, pulls out a spoon, then comes back and takes a bite of Roxy’s ice cream as well.  
“As a Queen, I absolutely can not condone that behavior. Royals do not fly off the handle because someone is cruel, intentionally or otherwise,” her Grandma says proudly, “However, as your Grandmother, I say ‘right on’.”  
Roxy grins and lets out a small huff of laughter, “Thank you Grandma.”  
“Is drowning your feelings in ice cream helping you?”  
“No,” Roxy admits, “I think I may be sick.”  
Her Grandma wraps an arm across her shoulders and gives her a squeeze. Roxy sighs and tilts her head to rest against her Grandma’s. They pull apart after a moment.  
“Why don’t you put that back,” her Grandma nods towards the ice cream, “and I will take you to something that will properly lift your spirits?”  
“Alright.” Roxy agrees and stands up from the stool. She puts the ice cream back into the freezer and walks back over to her Grandma.  
Her Grandma hooks her arm through Roxy’s and leads the way back out of the kitchen. They head upstairs to the second floor, and hang a right towards the east end of the castle. They come to a stop at a wide door.  
“Your rooms are finally complete,” her Grandma announces, “It took longer than expected but that’s the risk you take when you hire Count Trevor to do the design.”  
She lets go of Roxy’s arm and waves at the door. Roxy follows the implied direction. She grips the doorknob, twists it, and pushes the door open.  
The inside is better than any flat Roxy has ever seen. It’s bigger than the flat she stayed in at university as well.   
There’s a kitchenette in one corner, not big enough to cook a full meal, but big enough to reheat things or make soup or pasta without having to go down to the kitchens for it. An island separates it from the living area.  
The living area is wide open, with a tan-wood floor. The furniture includes an overstuffed-sofa and an arm chair, and a glass coffee table. Across from the sofa is a TV, and behind the sofa are a set of steps that lead into the bedroom.  
In the middle of the bedroom is a massive bed, with a bright blue comforter. There are piles of pillows at the head of it, and the whole thing looks delightfully squishy.  
Roxy glances at her Grandma, then at the bed, then back at her Grandma. When her Grandma doesn’t stop her as she starts edging closer to the bed, Roxy breaks into a full run. She launches herself off the top step and lands with a flop in the center of the bed. Her legs dangle off the end. She rolls to her back and lets out a delighted laugh.  
“This is so cool.” she announces to the world at large.  
It draws a chuckle from her Grandma, “Sofie has her own loft in the left corner, although I think she’ll be more inclined to sleep with you.”  
Roxy tilts her head to look, and sure enough, in the left corner where the wall comes in to give her privacy is a poodle sized loft. A few stairs lead up to a shelf coming out of the wall. On top of that shelf is a squishy dog bed, just the right size for a poodle. Like she heard them discussing, Sofie comes rushing in and bounds up the stairs to her new bed. She turns in circles, then flops down to watch them.  
“When you’re finished lounging, there’s more to show you.” her Grandma announces.   
Roxy swings off the bed, and stands, “Okay. What else do you have to show me?”  
Her Grandma walks over to the right wall of the bedroom and presses a well-hidden button. The wall splits in the middle and slides into the wood around the edges. Inside is a closet as big as Roxy’s entire bedroom at Uncle James’s.  
There are two shoe racks that reach from floor to ceiling, closet with two mirrored doors, a set of drawers that stretch up into the bottom of a large cupboard. Across the room are another set of drawers that leave a space on the wall for a mirror, and above that is another cupboard. All of it accented in light brown-red wood. There’s an ottoman in the center of the space and another closet at the very back.  
“You installed my own shopping center?” Roxy asks, incredulous.  
“Perhaps we were a little.. Liberal with the storage space. We just wanted to be sure everything was perfect.” her Grandma explains and passes over a remote, “Try pressing a button.”  
Roxy steps into the room and presses the number two key. Two drawers slide out and she steps over to see what’s inside. Each drawer is fitted with a divider, and in each section is a pair of sunglasses. Roxy fishes out a pair to try on.  
“What do you think Grandma?” she asks.  
“Very fashionable,” she answers and beckons Roxy over to the opposite wall with the cupboard and drawers, “Try pressing combination six-five-six.”  
Roxy presses the combination into the remote. One by one, drawers slide out on top of each other. Each one holds a layer of glittering jewelry.  
“Fuck,” Roxy gasps and leans forward, “These are beautiful.”  
The cupboard suddenly swings open as well, almost knocking Roxy in the head. She darts back in time. Inside are two sparkling tiaras.  
“I had a selection of the crown jewels brought in. I realize Ms. Celine’s advice is not always as welcome as I think.” her Grandma laughs.  
“Thank you.”   
“Now time for the best surprise of all. Press the key with the star on.”  
Roxy does as she’s instructed and the back closet slides open. She walks over with a small frown. All the gowns she’ll need for upcoming events are hung there.   
“Not that these gowns aren’t lovely Grandma,” she starts and turns to face her Grandma, “They’re just a bit underwhelming after the--”  
She cuts off in a squeak. Just as she was about to say ‘jewels’, a pair of hands snuck out and squeezed her waist, and a familiar voice said “Boo”.  
Roxy twists to see who it is and a grin splits her face.  
“Eggsy?” she asks.  
“Good to see you Rox.” Eggsy says, grinning mischievously.  
“You’re in my closet!” she cries.  
“I’m in your closet.” Eggsy agrees.  
“It’s so good to see you!” Roxy says and pulls him into a tight hug. Eggsy hugs her back tight enough to lift her off her feet.  
“I can’t believe you’re here! You absolute dick! I can’t believe you.” she gives him a sharp shot to his shoulder as he sets her down.  
“Your Gran wanted to surprise you,” Eggsy laughs, “Something about an early coronation present. Speaking of, when were you gonna tell me you were becoming Queen?”  
“Before it happened I promise,” Roxy answers with a small grimace, “There’s something else you should know.”  
“Yeah? What?” Eggsy asks.  
“I’m getting married.” Roxy answers.  
“Shit! To who?”  
“I don’t know yet.”   
*  
Roxy relaxes into her seat and passes Eggsy his container of popcorn. It feels exceedingly weird to be choosing her future husband from a powerpoint projected onto a screen.   
“This popcorn taste like pears to you?” Eggsy asks.  
“Genovian specialty.” she responds.  
“Fucking weirdos the lot of you.” Eggsy mumbles.  
Finally her Grandma and Merlin take their seats as well. The first slide comes up; Baron Johann Klimt. Underneath is listed his age, residence, hobbies, and investments.   
“Absolutely not,” Merlin shoots the older gentleman down, “He’s a compulsive gambler.”  
Roxy isn’t surprised. He owns three casinos.  
The slide clicks over and Antoine Suisson comes up. He’s twenty-four, lives in Paris, and plays rugby.  
“He isn’t a bad option. No title but excellent family.” her Grandma announces.  
Roxy shrugs, “Why not the title husband? He’s cute.”  
“His boyfriend thinks so too.” Merlin comments.  
“I call dibs when they break up!” Eggsy calls. Roxy snorts and pelts him with a few pieces of popcorn.  
“Put him on the list for coronation anyway,” her Grandma instructs, “He’s a divine dancer.”  
The next slide clicks over and shows Sir Laurent Wilson.  
“Too old!” Roxy objects. He should’ve been disqualified at sixty-four. He would die soon leaving her throne to her, but it really isn’t worth it.  
The slide clicks over and Charlie’s little brother comes up. He’s adorable, with little cherub cheeks. Really it’s too bad that he’s already starting to act like his obnoxious older brother.  
“Too young!” her Grandma objects. More than fair considering he’s only twelve.  
Click. Sven Gustaffason.  
“Alcoholic.” Eggsy says.  
Roxy turns to look at him, “How do you know?”  
“Reminds me of my step dad. And his photo. He’s fucking smirking,” Eggsy points out, “He owns six wineries, and his hobby is wine tasting. He’s just covering his own arse by making it about work.”  
“I’m inclined to agree,” her Grandma announces and starts pacing in contemplation, “We need someone with a title. Someone who can rule without ego getting in the way,” another slide clicks. “Someone who is attractive and smart but not arrogant.”  
Click.  
Click.  
“Someone like him?” Roxy asks.  
“Yes! Someone exactly like him. Good choice Roxy.” her Grandma exclaims.  
On screen is an older gentleman, but not so old Roxy feels disgusted. Dark hair combed immaculately, with just a touch of grey at the temples. A kind smile, emphasized by glasses. Investments in property. Hobbies include tailoring.  
Harold Hart, Duke of Kenilworth.


	4. Chapter 4

“We are pleased to announce The Duke of Kenilworth.” the criers announce.   
They pull the doors open, and Harold Hart strides in. He’s taller than Roxy thought he would be. He’s slim and the suit sits on him just right to make him seem even slimmer and taller. She has to admit she's a little jealous of his legs. If they get married she won't get to brag about having the best legs in the royal family.   
He bows low and brushes a kiss to the back of her hand. “Your highness.” he greets, seamlessly polite.   
Roxy curtsies, “Your Grace.”  
Harold straightens back up and smiles at her. Then he repeats the process with her Grandma. He’s effortlessly charming and holds himself tall. Confident but not cocky. Roxy has a feeling they're going to get along well. Perhaps this arranged marriage shit won't be as disastrous as she thought.   
With the greetings done, Harold is free to stand up straight and look at them as equals. Frankly, Roxy doesn't understand the need for all this diplomacy. She isn't going to be offended by someone simply shaking her hand. Even so it's a ritual everyone insists on following.   
“Harold Hart,” he introduces himself, “It’s an honor to be invited to spend time here.”  
“Well you are a welcome guest,” her Grandma replies, “Both I and Roxanne are pleased to have you here.”  
“Call me Roxy,” Roxy pipes up, “No point in being formal if we’re going to be spending as much time together as I think we will.”  
“In that case, call me Harry. I'm only called Harold by my mother if she's angry, or if I'm at the doctor’s.” Harry says.  
“Well with introductions out of the way,” her Grandma interrupts, “Perhaps I can convince Roxy to show you where you’ll be staying?”  
“Absolutely,” Roxy answers, “Harry?”  
“I would be delighted.” Harry answers with a small smile.   
“Come on then.” Roxy requests and pivots on her heel, ponytail swaying.   
They step out into the hall and Roxy leads him to the first flight of stairs.   
“It isn't far,” she assures Harry, “Should be no problem getting whatever luggage you brought into your suite.”  
“I appreciate it.” Harry answers.   
They make it to the second floor and Roxy turns, fully intending to lead Harry up the small set of steps that leads into the half floor where his suite is located. Instead she is interrupted by a hiss that sounds suspiciously like her name.   
She glances around and has to fight not to roll her eyes. Eggsy is leaning a little ways out of his bedroom doorway, trying to get her attention. He gestures her to come closer and she waves at him, trying to tell him to get his arse back inside before she kicks it. Her movement draws Harry’s attention and Roxy smiles, backed into a corner.   
“If you will excuse me Harry. It seems that someone needs my attention.” Roxy says and storms back to Eggsy when Harry nods.   
“The fuck do you want,” she whispers, “I'm trying to make a good impression.”  
“So that is him yeah?” Eggsy asks.   
“Yes, Egg--” Roxy starts but Eggsy cuts her off.   
“He's cute ain't he?” He remarks.   
Roxy snaps her fingers in front of his face. He turns his attention back to her.   
“Right. Sorry. I--” he starts but is interrupted by Harry coming over, finally satisfying his curiosity.   
“I don't believe we’ve been introduced,” Harry says politely, “I’m Harry Hart.”  
“Right. Yeah. ‘Course you are,” Eggsy says and shakes Harry’s hand, making Roxy wince, “Eggsy Unwin. I'm a friend of Roxy’s.”  
“Good to meet you,” Harry responds, “If you don't mind I think I'll steal Roxy away. She was showing me to my suite.”  
“Yeah. Yeah. Go. Sorry. I had a message for Roxy but it can wait a bit. You lot take off.” Eggsy says and shoots Roxy a look that clearly reads ‘He's a hardass.’  
Roxy ignores it and turns back to Harry, “Your suite is just at the end of the hall.”  
Roxy leads him back to the end of the hall and up the set of steps into his room. Harry takes a look around and seems entirely satisfied with his accommodations.   
“Thank you Roxy.” He says.   
“It was no problem. If you'll excuse me.” She starts to take off but Harry calls her back.   
“I hope I'm not overstepping, but how did you and Eggsy meet?” He asks  
“Oh. I went to a pub crawl with some friends while I was at uni. It went… sideways I suppose. Anyway, Eggsy happened to be there and he got me out before I could get caught in the center of a fight that wasn't mine. He's had my back ever since.”  
Something seems to relax in Harry’s face, “He seems like a good friend. A ruler needs those. Thank you again for showing me my room.”  
Roxy nods and steps back into the hall.   
*  
“Have you ever noticed how impractically the media expects me to dress,” Roxy asks Harry and shoots a winning smile at the reporters trying to get her attention, “I mean we’re at the beach for fuck’s sake. Why do they expect me to be wearing stilettos?”   
It’s their first public outing since they officially engaged in the ridiculous courting rituals. The reporters, always eager for any story concerning the royals, are packed tightly along a low lying bluff on the edge of the beach, trying to get pictures of the new couple. The flashes from the bulbs on their cameras make Roxy want to hit something. Or throw the ridiculous pink stilettos she’s forced to carry at their heads.  
“If it is any consolation, you look lovely.” Harry says close to her ear, making it look like he’s flirting.  
“I always look lovely.” Roxy points out.  
Harry snorts and straightens back up. He has a camera draped around his neck and his oxfords in his left hand. With his right hand, he lifts his camera from where it’s resting against his chest. He snaps a few photos of the beach, the water, then he turns the camera on Roxy.  
She makes a show of laughing in embarrassment, knowing the reporters who are just a few inches away from shoving the front of the pack off the cliff will eat it up. She smiles at Harry and tilts her head cutely. The change in angle allows the wind that was already wreaking havoc with her ponytail, to catch the silk scarf she has draped around the collar of her coat. It goes sailing away, fluttering in the current holding it aloft.  
“Shit!” Roxy curses and goes chasing after it.  
“Wait,” Harry calls, chasing her, “Roxy! Princesses shouldn’t have to chase a scarf!”  
The scarf falls to the sand and Roxy dives after it at the same time as Harry. They crash into each other and they both go toppling over. They roll down a small slope of sand and come to a stop. They share a glance and they both bust into laughter. Harry holds the scarf up triumphantly, and it sends Roxy into another fit of giggles.  
“Perhaps next time we plan to walk on a windy beach, you forgo the scarf?” Harry suggests.  
“Duly noted.” Roxy hiccups.  
Harry helps her back to her feet and they both proceed to try to knock themselves free of sand. It clings stubbornly to whatever product Harry uses in his hair, and makes him look like he has a particularly strange kind of dandruff. Roxy can feel grains of it lining the inside of her bra. How it got there when she’s in a buttoned trench-coat is a mystery but sand has a habit of getting everywhere. Eventually they give up dusting themselves off as a lost cause, and retrieve their shoes from further up the beach.  
“I guess you were correct about the impractically of nice clothes on the beach.” Harry jokes.  
“Being right is one of my many talents.” Roxy teases.  
“I think we have given the reporters plenty,” Harry says, “A shower is calling my name.”  
“Agreed. I can see the headlines about us now ‘Princess and new Suitor baffled by a scarf’. Should be enough to keep them satisfied for a little while.” Roxy says.  
They walk at a dignified pace to the car. Definitely not subtly racing to see who gets there first.  
*  
“I don’t play Badminton.” Roxy states blankly as she gets dressed, “So why am I playing it with Harry?”  
“Fuck if I know. Was your Gran’s idea,” Eggsy answers and props himself up on his elbows so he can look down the bed at her, “Guess she thinks friendly competition will spark something between you?”  
“She’s mad.” Roxy grumbles.  
“Especially because she ain’t never seen you when you get proper competitive. Remember when you almost caused Jamal to choke when you were shooting the root?” Eggsy asks.  
“Yeah,” Roxy remembers fondly, “That was pretty good.”  
“You just fucking locked eyes with him and kept fucking chugging,” Eggsy laughs, “Alright enough procrastinating. I wanna see you get your arse kicked at something for once.”  
Roxy flips him off then picks her sunglasses up off the dressing table. She’s just relieved to be wearing athletic shorts for this instead of some ungodly tiny skirt. It means she won’t have to worry about flashing people if she jumps.  
Eggsy follows her out of the castle and out of makeshift grass court in the east lawn. As they approach, footmen carry out a cooler full of drinks and set it next to the court. A chair has been set out so Eggsy can watch without having to hover awkwardly by the side. A few rackets and birdies have been set out as well.  
Harry arrives not long after them, and he kisses Roxy’s cheek in a polite but affectionate ‘Hello’. He acknowledges Eggsy next with a small nod and an “Eggsy.”  
“Hey guv,” Eggsy responds and flops into his lawn chair, “Just pretend like I ain’t here.”  
“Very well,” he agrees easily and turns his attention back to Roxy, “Do you want a drink before we play?”  
“Nope. I’m ready to play now.” Roxy answers.  
They each pick up a racket and proceed to the opposite sides of the net. It’s Roxy’s serve, so she tosses the little plastic birdie into the air and hits it gracefully over the net. Harry hits it with a simple flick of his wrist.  
After that all politeness on Roxy’s behalf fades. She feels the competition slide underneath her skin, and her focus narrows to the piece of plastic soaring back and forth across the net. She isn’t great at it but that only makes her hit harder. She has completely lost track of the points. She thinks Harry might be up by one or two.  
The birdie sails back over the net to Roxy’s side. She tilts her body like she has been the whole match, expecting to hit it. The angle of the birdie is different than before or the angle of the sun is. Either way it flashes in her eyes, and even with sunglasses it blinds her momentarily. She misses the birdie and the momentum balances her. Her feet slip on the grass, and she crashes to the ground before she can balance herself again. Her lady’s maids start to rush forward to help her but Eggsy stops them.  
“Let them bond. Let them bond.” he whispers, shooing them away.  
“Fuck,” Harry states and ducks under the net so he can kneel by Roxy’s side, “Are you alright?”  
“Yeah. I’m fine. I think I just twisted my ankle, I’m good to play.” Roxy answers and tries to stand but Harry put a hand on her knee.  
“Just stay there. I will fetch you some ice for it.” he insists and moves over to the cooler full of drinks. He grabs one of the towels intended for sweat and starts piling ice from the cooler into the center,  
He’s right next to Eggsy so it’s easy enough for Eggsy to get Roxy’s attention.  
“Glasses off.” he mouths and makes the gesture mimicking the action.  
Roxy whips her sunglasses off and puts on a slightly pained expression as Harry approaches with his makeshift ice pack. He kneels next to her again, and presses the ice pack to the outside of her ankle.  
*  
Roxy walks arm in arm with Harry over the little bridge in the garden. A spring runs underneath, and makes a happy gurgle as they walk. Trees provide a perfect amount of shade that keeps them cool without making it too dark.  
Eggsy is few paces behind them, trying to hold Brigitte and Brigitta at bay. With Merlin busy watching Gazelle, the maids have taken to watching over her and Harry themselves. It’s been driving Roxy up a wall. Having Eggsy there to keep them from spoiling yet another moment between herself and Harry is a relief.  
“You went to Oxford?” Harry asks her.  
“I did. I studied political science. I assumed it would be a good fit for my inevitable future plans..” Roxy explains.  
“That seems like a logical step. Did you enjoy it?”  
“For the most part. Although I found some of my classmates absolutely insufferable.” Roxy admits.  
“Any particular reason why?” Harry asks curiously.  
“The lack of shits some of them gave about other people was reprehensible. I understand that leaders of countries can’t cater to every whim of the people. If they did it could be a disaster. But I think governments and their leaders have a responsibility to listen to what the people are saying and at least try to make an effort to improve the welfare of others. Some of my classmates were against giving everyone a safe place to live, and access to food and clean water. It didn’t sit well with me.” Roxy finishes her rant and grimaces as she realises that she let her true opinions out before any guarantee Harry would marry her.  
“I think you will make an excellent Queen once you make it to the throne,” Harry says admiringly, “I always say that there’s a reason aristocrats developed weak chins.”  
“Thank you,” Roxy says with a small grin, “Enough about me. You run a tailors?”  
“I do.” Harry grins.  
“How did you get into tailoring? Seems like a sidestep from being a duke.”  
“You’re not wrong,” Harry admits, “My father wanted me to bring my own business into our financials when I was younger, I suppose he wanted me to learn how to handle money. I decided on tailoring because the suits all my father’s associates wore were fucking dreadful. I thought I could make them fit better, and make them more interesting. I worked at the shop for a bit while I waited for it to take off properly. I thoroughly enjoyed it.”  
“Good. No time wasted then.” Roxy says, a little at a lost as to how to keep carrying the conversation.  
Her attention drifts further along the path. On one of the benches, book open on her lap, face pinched, is Gazelle. When she notices Roxy looking, she flicks her dark hair over her shoulders, and walks away, leaving Roxy wondering why she seemed so sour.  
*  
“I wanted to give you an early birthday present,” Harry explains, “I hope you like it.”  
“Harry?” Roxy asks.  
“Yes?” he responds.  
“Can you try to talk without moving your lips? The reporters have binoculars.” Roxy says and glances sideways towards the gates of the castle.  
They’re sitting under genovia’s royal pear tree. If Roxy looks up, she can just make out the beginnings of fruit forming on the branches.  
It’s a beautiful place to be sitting but it’s much closer to the gates than any other part of the palace grounds. Which means the reporters gather there whenever anyone strays there. Even Eggsy had been caught in the lens a few days ago. The “IS THIS THE PRINCESS’S LOVER” headlines had taken quite a few phone calls to clear up. Eggsy thought it was hilarious.  
“I’ll do my best.” Harry promises, making an effort to minimize the movement of his lips. He digs into his pocket and fishes out something for Roxy.  
Roxy closes her eyes and holds out her hand. She can hear increased chatter from the hoard at the gate as Harry places whatever it is in her palm. She opens her eyes and keeps a smile on her face so as not to offend Harry. A cannister of camera film?  
“Wow,” she says brightly, “film. Always useful to have around. Maybe you can teach me some photography secrets now.”  
She raises her hand to stick a stray strand of hair behind her ear. As she does so she hears something inside the cannister rattle. Film doesn’t rattle. She shakes the cannister experimentally and once again she hears the rattle.   
“What’s in here?” she asks Harry curiously and pulls the top of the cannister off. She tilts the opening down towards her palm and a ring comes tumbling out.  
“It was my grandmother’s wedding ring,” Harry explains, “She and my grandfather were married for sixty years. I thought maybe it could bring us a bit of luck.”  
“What are you saying Harry?” Roxy asks, ever cautious though she highly doubts Harry would do something cruel.  
“Roxanne Diana Williams Morton, Princess of Genovia, will you marry me?” Harry asks.  
“Yes! Yes!” Roxy exclaims, “Of course I will. Thank you Harry.”  
They hug tightly and when they pull back Roxy admires the ring still sitting in her palm. Silver with small emerald chips set into metal work. Nice, but not ostentatious. Just like Harry.  
“Do I have to put it on myself?” she asks.  
“No. I can do that.” Harry answers.  
“Okay.” Roxy says and holds the ring out to Harry. He takes it from her, and picks up her left hand. He smiles at her and slides the ring on to her finger.


	5. Chapter 5

“You look good Rox,” Eggsy reassures her, “You ain’t gotta be nervous about this.”  
“Maybe you don’t have to be nervous Eggsy, but I have to tell the entire country that I’m getting married.” she grumbles and unbuttons, then re buttons the same button on her shirt. She still isn’t satisfied with the way it looks. She tries opening two buttons but that exposes too much chest. So she redoes one button. Eggsy lets her do it three more times before he stands up and takes her wrists.  
“Rox, just stop fucking about,” he insists, “You keep putting this much pressure on yourself and you’re gonna have a stroke by the time you’re thirty. Which would really suck because I don’t want to have a dead best friend.”   
Roxy sighs and shakes some of the tension out of her shoulders. Her Grandma, Merlin, and Harry are all running late. She can’t make the announcement without Harry with her and every passing second they’re late is another second she has to overthink some aspect of the announcement or another. Her only relief is that Eggsy was able to get Brigitte and Brigitta to wait in another room.  
“Where the fuck are they?” she asks for what feels like the millionth time.  
“Don’t know. The only one of the three who likes me is Merlin but he don’t have a cellphone for ‘privacy reasons’. Just relax alright?” Eggsy responds.  
Roxy drops like a stone onto the sofa. The whole announcement is going to be televised. If she or Harry stumble, even just slightly, it will be immortalized on camera. They will become the most watched clip on youtube and soon the whole world will know they couldn’t keep it together. Eggsy shoves a glass of water into her hands and she drinks it without thought. It actually does help settle her stomach a bit.  
Finally the door opens and everyone walks in.  
“Thank Christ.” Eggsy mutters.  
“I apologize,” her Grandma says, “We had paperwork to sign and it ran longer than expected.”  
“You couldn’t have called,” Roxy asks, voice sharp with annoyance, “I was sitting here thinking the worst had happened.”  
“We didn’t think to call. But we are all here now. We need to organize your entrance a bit,” her Grandma says, “The two of you stand together. I want to see who will look better standing on which side.”  
Harry joins Roxy in the center of the room. Her Grandma eyes them critically for a few moments then tells them to switch. She pulls Roxy forward, then shuffles her this way and that until she is satisfied.  
“Roxy, I want you to stand to the audience's right of Harry and a little in front of him. It will convey that you are the most important factor of this equation since you are to be queen without making Harry seem either small or overbearing,” she explains, “Now go out onto that balcony, smile, and wave.”  
Roxy sighs again and turns to face the balcony doors. She glances over at Harry.  
“Are you ready?” she asks.  
“As I’ll ever be I suppose.” Harry answers.  
They push open the doors and step out onto the balcony. The crowd below roars in excitement. For many of them it’s their first time experiencing a royal engagement. It’s a big deal for them, perhaps even bigger than it is for politics.  
Roxy waves at everyone, ring glinting in the sunlight. It’s confirmation enough that they’re officially engaged. Harry makes a show of lacing their hands together, and another cheer goes up from the crowd. They wave with their free hands.   
*  
“Turn that off Gazelle. It’s making me ill.” Chester snaps.  
Gazelle picks up the remote from the side table and hits the power button. The tv clicks off and she turns to face her uncle over the back of the sofa.  
“It seems you were wrong, Uncle. Not only did Princess Roxanne not crack under the pressure as you predicted, she seems to have found a suitable husband and well within your thirty-day time frame.” Gazelle points out.  
Chester, from where he’s sitting at the dining table, lets out an annoyed grunt. Gazelle can tell he’s frustrated that his plan hasn’t worked as hoped. He’s never taken setbacks well.  
Chester takes another sip of his tea, then rises from his chair. He begins to pace while he thinks.  
“We will just have to figure out a way to attack her from another angle.” he states.  
“Did you not see that,” Gazelle asks, feeling her own temper spike, “The people adore her. Once she has their support it is nearly impossible to shake her.”  
“I agree.” Chester says and sinks into the leather recliner next to the sofa. Gazelle shoots him an irritated look as he retreats into himself to think. She hates when he does that. It takes ages from him to snap out of it and often whatever scheme he spews, refuses to be modified or bargained with. His plan to steal the crown came out fully fledged, and Gazelle feels as though it hasn’t gone exactly well.  
“So,” she demands after ten minutes of silent contemplation, “Any new ideas?”  
Chester looks over at her, contemplating, “Perhaps.”  
“Are you sure? Because we can’t afford to underestimate her resolve again.” Gazelle says sharply.  
“Princess Roxanne can not possibly be happy with the idea of an arranged marriage.” Chester says.  
“Yet she has taken one,” Gazelle points out, “We have been over this.”  
Chester rises from his seat again, and strolls over to the dart board. He pulls all the darts free, and takes the required number of steps away, almost even with Gazelle on the sofa.  
“Have I ever shown you the trick taught to me by an old sicilian man?” he asks.  
“No.” Gazelle answers with a roll of her eyes.  
“I can make this dart,” Chester waves a dart between two fingers, “Hit the center of the board every time.”  
He turns back to the dartboard, positions his feet as usual, and adjusts his grip on the dart. He squints at the target and loosens his wrist muscles, taking careful aim at the board. Just when Gazelle thinks he’s going to throw the dart, he lets out an almighty yell, and goes running forward. He stops just before the dartboard, and shoves the dart right into the center of the board.  
Gazelle sighs and unfolds herself from the sofa. She pulls the dart free and holds it out to Chester with raised eyebrows.  
“Yes. But that is cheating.” she points out.  
“Exactly, my dear,” Chester says gleefully, “You said that at the ball the two of you flirted?”  
“A little,” Gazelle admits reluctantly, “Why?”  
“Your new job, is to seduce her. Show her what life could be like if she wasn’t shackled to an old man for the rest of her life,” Chester instructs, “Woo her as no one has before. Once she is putty in your hands then she will be hard pressed to go back to The Duke of Kenilworth. After all, a young woman her age wants adventure. Not someone who is exhausted by ten at night. Yes?”  
“Yes.” Gazelle answers.  
With a new plan in her pocket, she returns to the castle; to Princess Roxanne.  
*  
Roxy settles down on a step on the staircase, and rests her book in her lap. Almost no one comes through the ballroom, so hopefully she will be safe from intruders such as her lady’s maids or the wedding planner. Really she just wants ten minutes alone to read her book, nothing more. She doesn’t even want to see Eggsy, strangely enough. He’s been nothing but a total help since he arrived but Roxy is just too emotionally drained to even deal with her best friend.  
She props open her book and buries her nose in it. She isn’t even reading anything highbrow. She discovered a book series about a female bounty hunter months ago but she’s only just now found time to read the next book series.  
As she gets further into the book, Roxy finds her attention drifting. Sometimes, just sometimes, she wishes she could be like the character in the books. Maybe not the tracking down bad guys part, or the part where the main character is a genuine human disaster. But the part where she can make her own choices sounds amazing. The way she lives independently, except for a pet, and going home for dinner once a week.   
It’s a million miles removed from Roxy’s own life. She understands, logically, that accepting the position she did would mean a certain amount of lost privacy. But she gets tired of living her life under a microscope. Between the media, and her own grandma, she feels more like a specimen than a human being. If the occasional fantasy of running away and living an uninspiring life crosses her mind, who can blame her?  
Hell. Even struggling to pay the bills sounds like an improvement at the moment. Between the upcoming coronation, the wedding planning, and Gazelle trying to steal the throne out from under her, Roxy feels stretched thin and invisible. A little like cling film, if she’s honest. She isn’t as sure about her future as she was at uni and with each passing day her future seems to be closing in on her. People have always said that after a stressful period in time, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. All Roxy sees is more dark.  
She sighs and brings her focus back down to her book and as she reads the main character says something rather poetic about life being like a jelly doughnut.  
The sound of heels sound on the marble of the floor, and Roxy looks up from her book. The event coordinator, Amelia, is juggling three binders, a cell phone, and a coffee. She’s debating with someone on her ear piece, loudly, and in German. She doesn’t see Roxy until she’s practically on top of her.  
“Oh Princess,” she exclaims and Roxy hushes her frantically, “Sorry,” Amelia whispers, “Harry just called. His plane took off safely and he should be landing in London in a few hours. He’ll be gone on business for a few days but he should be back in time for the next meeting with the wedding planner.”  
“Excellent. Thank you.” Roxy whispers back.  
“Of course,” Amelia responds, “Can I ask you something Princess?”  
“Of course you can.” Roxy answers.  
“Why are we whispering?” Amelia asks.  
“I’m hiding from my lady’s maids.” Roxy whispers even more softly. She has the experience of, upon mentioning them, they appear from mid air. She hopes speaking softly will prevent that from happening.  
“I see,” Amelia says with a soft laugh, “Good luck with that Princess.”  
She taps her ear piece and says something in German to whoever is on the other side. When they respond, she nods, and moves off. She steps over Roxy and moves up the stairs, still speaking German.  
Roxy goes back to her book, but is momentarily distracted by the engagement ring Harry gave her. It’s just as beautiful as the day he officially proposed but it carries a great helping of dread now.  
She and Harry get along amazingly well. Especially when the age gap, and social background are considered. He gets her dry sense of humor. He never feels the need to correct her when her potty mouth shows up and even joins in on the cursing. In general, he’s a wonderful match for her.  
But she doesn't love him. It seems like a sham to be getting married with an engagement ring based on sixty years of love. She just hopes Harry’s grandmother can forgive her.   
She supposes that in a way, they are getting married for love. Roxy is getting married because she loves her country. Harry is getting married because he loves doing the right thing? Come to think of it, she isn’t sure why Harry agreed to this situation. Her Grandma issued the invitation, without holding back a single detail. Then Harry just showed up. He went through the motions of courting her, despite knowing that they would be engaged and married long before they actually got to know each other. For all accounts it doesn’t make a lick of sense.  
He could be using her to motivate his status, but that doesn’t seem like him. He’s never tried flexing any sort of political muscle. He’s just solid and steady. All he wants, it seems, is to have her back.  
That just makes Roxy feel even guiltier. She’s definitely fond of Harry but the devotion he has to getting her on the throne, is baffling. It seems like there should be no way he’s that clean cut.  
The ring on her finger just represents all the guilt and confusion she feels. Roxy lets out a sigh and brings her hand back down on top of her book. What a mess.  
She starts reading her book again. She doesn’t want to spend all her time alone, moping. She wants to relax and enjoy not dealing with Princess Duties for as long as she possibly can. She settles her spine in between the posts on the staircase, tucks her knees back up to her chest, and starts to read. The ring remains in her peripheral vision the whole time, mocking her every time it glints in the sun.  
Roxy hears someone come down the hallway. Whoever it is, is whistling a cheerful tune. It’s annoying. Roxy just hopes whoever it is will turn left and avoids coming through the ballroom. She tries to focus on her book but the whistling grows louder the longer she waits.  
Soon enough the doors to the ballroom open, and Gazelle strolls in. Roxy instinctively freezes. Whenever she’s shoved into a situation with her, Roxy feels like she’s losing her mind. Everything concerning Gazelle is a big jumble of hurt, confusion, and anger. Roxy sends a prayer to whatever deity is watching, the Gazelle doesn’t notice her.  
Apparently the deities aren’t listening to her. Gazelle spots her and slows to a stop to lean against the bannister. Her hair is up in half updo and it throws the sharp angles of her face into the light. It suits her in a way it would never suit Roxy.  
Gazelle spots Roxy’s hand resting on top of her book, and by extension the engagement ring. She raises her eyebrows and jerks her chin at it, “Are you having second thoughts?” she asks with a smug grin.  
Roxy’s jaw tightens, and she stands up from her step.  
“On the contrary, actually, I was just admiring the ring Harry gave me,” she says and starts to walk up the stairs, “It was Harry’ Grandmother’s. You know he is just so romantic.” she looks up from admiring her ring and startles slightly as she realises Gazelle managed to back her against the railing. Roxy extricates herself from the crowded position by sliding sideways, and starts back down the stairs.  
“Well, if you would excuse me, I have to go see to some wedding details.” she announces, and crosses the floor to the other half of the staircase and once again starts to go up. On the other set of stairs, Gazelle climbs at the same pace she does.  
Roxy comes to a halt about halfway up the steps and rests her hands on the bannister, “I’m sorry. Is there something you wanted to say to me?”  
Gazelle mimics her position, “No,” she states easily, “Although you were the one who stomped on me with your big feet.”  
“Big feet?” Roxy asks indignantly. She’s interrupted by the sound of someone running, and Brigitta comes bursting into the hallway at the top of the stairs.  
“Brigitte! I found her!” she calls.  
“Uh.. Brigitta,” Roxy asks, drawing her attention, “I’m not here.”  
“It wasn’t her! It was a ghost!” Brigitta calls and continues running, making ghost noises as she goes. Both Roxy and Gazelle take a moment to marvel at the strange behavior before turning back to each other.  
“You know,” Roxy points out as she continues up the stairs, “You danced with these big feet.”  
“Okay. So I did dance with you,” Gazelle admits and darts to the top of the stairs, “But Roxy I think you’re forgetting, we only danced for a minute.”  
“It was more than a minute.” Roxy grumbles.  
“Maybe a minute and a half.” Gazelle says with a tilt of her head that suggests that time frame is generous.  
“Fine,” Roxy states, “It was a minute and a half. But it was still a lie! Because you didn’t tell me who you were or that you were trying to steal my crown.”  
“Please forgive my momentary lapse in bad manners,” Gazelle says, “Usually when I ask a woman to dance I show her my entire family tree.”  
“Well,” Roxy says with a small sniff, “Aren’t you just crafty?”  
Roxy hears the voices of her Grandma and a maid, and quickly glance over her shoulder to see how far away they are. When she turns back, Gazelle is smirking at her. Roxy pushes past her, and walks down the two steps off the balcony into the hall.  
“Do you know what else you were doing while you were doing your little lie dance?” she calls over her shoulder.  
Gazelle follows her, “Lie dance? What is a lie dance?”  
The voices are closer now, and Roxy panics. She opens a broom closet and gestures for Gazelle to get inside. Clearly amused, Gazelle obeys and ROxy shuts the door after them. She flicks on the light switch.  
“The lie dance, is not the point. The point is--” she is cut off by Gazelle leaning close to her to shut the light off.  
“What is the point Roxy?” she asks.  
Roxy flips the switch back on, and leans into Gazelle’s personal space, hoping to get her to back down, “The point is that I’m onto you. I know exactly what you’re trying to do.”  
“And what am I trying to do?” Gazelle asks.  
Roxy takes a step closer, expecting Gazelle to at least lean away slightly but she doesn’t. It just now dawns on Roxy how close they are in this cramped little cupboard. She can smell whatever shampoo Gazelle uses, and see her face in fine detail.  
:I think we both know what you are trying to do.” Roxy says, lowly.  
Suddenly the cupboard door swings open. Roxy shoves Gazelle away with a hand on her chest but it’s too late. The maid on the other side has already seen.  
“Please forgive the intrusion, your highness, lady Valentine.” she says with a curtsy.  
“Wait! NO!” Roxy starts but the maid has already swung the door shut again, leaving Roxy alone with Gazelle once again.


	6. Chapter 6

“It is a grand tradition that every Genovian royal performs on their coronation day,” her Grandma says, “Shooting a flaming arrow symbolizes us propelling the hopes and reams of our people into the future.”  
“You know Grandma, last time I participated in an Ancient Genovian Tradition, it resulted in a chicken getting loose in the throne room,” Roxy says as she buckles the brace to her arm, “The newspaper referred to me as Chicken a la Queen for two weeks.”  
“I know. But you will have more preparation for this than you did for public audiences. I leave you in the good hands of Gawain to train you,” her grandma responds and gestures to the burly man just a few paces behind them, “Good luck my dear.”  
Her Grandma strolls away back up the path and Roxy finishes the last buckle. She turns to Gawain with a small shrug.  
“It appears I am all yours.” Roxy says.  
Gawain nods and picks up a bow, “How tall are you?”  
“Five three.” Roxy answers.  
Gawain nods again, and picks up a different bow and passes it to her.  
“I think we’ll start by you copying what I do, your highness,” he explains, “I think it will help me establish corrections.”  
“Whatever you think is best,” Roxy says easily, “Having never shot an arrow before, I will follow your lead.”  
Gawain pulls an arrow out of the standing quiver between them. He knocks it against the bow, draws the string back, and lines it up with the straw target across the grass from them. He takes a deep breath, lets it out, and lets go of the string. The string twangs, and the arrow flies through the air. It imbeds itself with a thump, just to the right of the center circle.  
“Now you try.” he instructs.  
Roxy repeats what Gawain just did. She draws the arrow from the quiver, knocks it, and lifts the bow up. She pulls the string back and it’s much harder than expected, the muscles in her arms are trembling already. She lines up the arrow with the target, and releases. There’s a twang but no thump. Her arrow flies wide and lands close to five feet from the target.  
“That’s okay,” Gawain says, trying to be reassuring, “No one is able to do it the first time. Take your stance again?”  
Roxy draws another arrow from the quiver, and goes through the process of setting up her stance. Gawain eyes her critically.   
“Slide your right foot out just a touch,” he instructs and Roxy does as she’s told, “And turn your head toward the target just a little more. Good. Now release.”  
Roxy lets go of the string and her arrow flies. This time it doesn’t fly far enough. It takes a sharp diagonal to the ground and lands maybe ten feet from Roxy. The target is thirty feet away. Roxy tries not to let the failure get to her. Despite what Eggsy believes, she can’t just be naturally good at everything.  
The rest of the afternoon is spent trying to get the arrow closer to the target. It seems like every time she gets the arrow far enough, it is wildly off to the side. Conversely, every time she gets the arrow to align with target it falls short by half the distance. It turns out to be a fruitless and entirely frustrating afternoon.  
Gawain dismisses her when her shot nearly takes out Gazelle who’s reading a book on a bench nearby. Roxy’s arms ache. It starts all the way up in her shoulder joint and runs down into her fingertips. She’s sweaty from the exertion, and the afternoon sunshine. She takes a quick shower and collapses face first into bed.   
*  
“Well don’t you clean up nicely.” Roxy teases as Eggsy comes down the stairs. She’s never seen him in anything but jeans and pajamas. So when he comes out in slim fit tailored jeans, and a blazer Roxy is blown away. She always new he was built well under the baggy bomber jackets he favors, but this just confirms it.  
“Yeah? Feels pretty good,” he says and does a little twirl for her, “That old lady who dressed me way annoying as shit though. Kept talking about how I looked like some old fuck from the 50s.”  
“That would be Ms. Celine. She was already ancient when she started dressing my Grandma. I think she might be immortal.” Roxy says.  
“Well immortal or not she made me look pretty good. Where’s Harry? Ain’t he supposed to be escorting you to this garden party?” Eggsy asks.  
“He’ll be back soon. He realised he left his camera upstairs.” Roxy explains.  
She and Eggsy chat for a few more minutes and Harry returns with his camera, and a broad white sun-hat.  
“I was accosted by your Grandma in the hallway. Garden parties require sun hat,” he explains and passes it to her, “She would like you to wear this.”  
Roxy sighs and takes it from him. She’s already dressed to the nines. Pink floaty dress with cap sleeves, silver heels, a fan. It only makes sense that a sun-hat would be added. She’s only willing to wear it because she’s going to be amongst nobles whose support she needs in the fight for her throne. Any perceived slight could cause them to turn on her. Chances are, going hatless at a garden party would be just such a perceived slight.  
The three of them exit the palace, and make their way down into the gardens. Elaborate tables are set up. Each table for guests is set with it’s own color coordinated awning and place settings. There are miles of buffets serving finger sandwiches, cakes, petifores, scones, salads, and others that Roxy can’t make out yet. Each buffet table has a server in a crisp white jacket.  
“That’s our table over there,” Roxy says, “The one with the purple awning.”  
They all make their way over and pick up the plate with their place card on it. They collect goodies from various buffet tables, and trek back to their table.  
“You two can stay put. I am going to go make the rounds.” Roxy says.  
There’s a stage set up at the front and a young opera singer is singing her heart out. Roxy reaches the center of the tables just as she finishes. Her Grandma announces her, and awards her a golden pear as a thank you for performing.   
Seeing her opportunity, Roxy dives into the fray. She approaches Countess Gellar first.  
“It’s so good to see you,” Roxy cries as she approaches and Countess Gellar smiles at her, “How are your Grandchildren? Lily, Charlotte, and Sam?”  
“They’re very good, Princess! Thank you for asking.” Countess Gellar answers.  
“Was it Charlotte who was hoping to join the local theatre this summer?”  
“It was!”   
“How did that work out for her? I remember you telling me that she was working very hard on her monologues.”  
“It went well. She was cast in Dracula.”  
“Excellent! Do send me the dates for the performance. If I’m free, I would love to attend.” Roxy says, already moving on to the next noble.  
“Hello! Good to see you!” Roxy says, leaning down to kiss Baroness Montgomery’s cheek.  
“It is so good to see you too Princess. How have you been?” Baroness Montgomery asks.  
“I’ve been wonderful. How is your dog? Morey?”  
“He is good. You remember him from last summer?”  
“I do! He was so sweet.”  
Roxy’s rounds continue in a similar fashion. She pulls random details out of her arse, and the nobles feel properly buttered up.  
As she returns to her table, she spots Gazelle strolling into the garden. There’s a man on her arm that looks suspiciously like Charlie.  
“Harry,” Roxy says as she approaches, “Would you like to go for a walk with me?”  
“Of course. Do you mind being left alone Eggsy?” Harry asks as he stands.  
“Nah guv. I’m cool.” Eggsy answers.  
Roxy hooks her arm through Harry’s and leads him off towards where Gazelle is chatting with one of the members of parliament who came. As they go, Roxy catches Eggsy swinging his feet up onto Harry’s chair, out of the corner of her eye.  
They weave their way through the crowd. Thankfully because Roxy already made her rounds, no one feels the need to stop them.  
“Wait,” Harry says, already holding up his camera, “The lighting here is excellent.”  
“Harry, You really don’t need to take my picture at every moment you know.” Roxy teases.  
“Yes, I’m aware. But you make very lovely material for the camera. Much better than flowers and statuary.” Harry explains and snaps a photo of her.  
Roxy shakes her head, amused by his antics. Then they carry on across the garden. The closer they get to Gazelle, the clearer her partner becomes. It is definitely Charlie.   
That combination is Roxy’s worst nightmare. Gazelle is already trying to take over her throne. Charlie is a power hungry money grubber, and he’s been chasing after Roxy since she first arrived at court. He’s always hoped to leverage the friendship he constructed in his head to gain a kingship. Now that it looks like another might become Queen, he’s chasing after her instead. He’s also a favorite among Parliament. The two of them together have a good chance of shoving her off the throne.  
“You know, you were very charming with the nobles,” Harry compliments as they walk, “They all seem to adore you.”  
“That was the plan,” Roxy responds with a small grin, “Thank you Harry.”  
They continue to walk in vaguely the same direction. Roxy keeps Gazelle and Charlie in the corner of her eye as they go. Every few feet, Harry stops to take a photo of her.  
“Harry! Stop,” Roxy laughs, “no more pictures,” she holds up her fan between herself and his camera lense.  
“Just one more!” Harry insists and snaps the photo.  
There’s a small cough from behind them and they turn to see Gazelle and Charlie standing there. Harry lowers his camera and smiles politely.  
“It’s always good to see you Charlie,” Roxy lies through her teeth, “Harry you’ve met Lady Gazelle, this is Lord Charles but he prefers Roxy.”  
“It is lovely to meet you.” Harry says and shakes Charlie’s hand.  
“Charlie and I were just discussing his latest achievement,” Gazelle says, “He’s just received the Rhode Scholarship.”  
“It wasn’t anything really.” Charlie says, fake humility dripping from every syllable.  
“Oh don’t be modest, you are an amazing man.” Gazelle says and ROxy tries not to gag.  
“Congratulations Charlie,” she says, “You know Harry has a PHD from Oxford.”  
“That is impressive,” Gazelle says, “You know Charlie spent time in the peace corp.”  
“That’s amazing,” ROxy exclaims, “You know Harry spent two years in Milan studying the art of fabric weaving.”  
“Charlie--” Gazelle starts but Roxy cuts her off.  
“Charlie is actually trying to say something. Yes Charlie?”  
Charlie turns to Harry, “Would you like to get a drink? I have a feeling they’re going to start a ‘my horse is bigger than your horse’ competition.”  
“I would love to,” Harry says but after all the time she’s spent with him, Roxy can hear the disdain in his voice, “If you will excuse us.”  
They walk away and leave Roxy and Gazelle alone.  
They hover awkwardly around each other for several minutes. Each of them try to start a sentence but fall short of producing any actual words. Finally Gazelle breaks the tension.  
“You have very nice gardens.” she says conversationally.  
“Thank you. Our gardeners work hard to maintain them.” Roxy responds and fans herself as they fall into another strained silence.  
“You and Harry make a lovely couple.” Gazelle compliments.  
“Oh,” Roxy says, surprised, “Thank you.”  
“It’s a shame you’re not attracted to him.” Gazelle says.  
Roxy responds without thinking it all the way through, “I know. It really is--”  
She cuts herself off mid-sentence, horrified by what she just admitted aloud. Gazelle is already striding away into the hedge maze.  
“Wait! Get back here!” Roxy calls indignantly and chases after her. She catches up to Gazelle a few lengths in.  
“Wait! You can’t just say something like that and then walk away!” Roxy cries.  
“No?” Gazelle asks, totally nonplussed.  
“No,” Roxy answers firmly, “I will have you know that I am very attracted to Harry.”  
“Obviously,” Gazelle says sarcastically, “Please forgive my mistake.”  
“I am,” Roxy insists still chasing Gazelle down the gravel paths inside the maze, “He and I were made for each other. He understands me.”  
Gazelle stops short and turns to face Roxy, “He understands you? I am amazed by the amount of passion. But do excuse me when I don’t believe you when you haven’t mentioned love.”  
Roxy sniffs proudly, and starts to walk away from Gazelle. She spreads her fan and fans herself as she walks.  
“I think you’re jealous.” she announces.  
“Jealous,” Gazelle asks with an incredulous chuckle, “Why should I be jealous of Harry? He has to spend the rest of his life married to you.”  
Roxy stops short and whirls around to face Gazelle. She closes her fan with a snap, then smacks Gazelle on the shoulder with it, “I loathe you.”  
Gazelle gasps in surprise. She crushes the party program she’s carrying and hits Roxy back, “I loathe you!”  
Roxy leans into Gazelle’s space with a scowl, “I loathe you first.”  
They’re inches away, breathing hard. Roxy is struck by the fact Gazelle is just a few inches taller than her, and how the sun casts shadows across her skin. Then suddenly Gazelle pulls her in and presses a kiss to her lips. Roxy melts into it. She’s been kissed plenty of times before but being kissed by Gazelle is a hundred times better than any other kiss she’s had in the past.   
She leans into it, unthinking. Then pulls back sharply when she remembers who it is.  
“What the fuck are you doing,” Roxy hisses, “You can’t just go around kissing people. Particularly not engaged people.”  
She moves off around the edge of the fountain, trying to put some distance between them. She needs to clear her head. She needs to think. And she can’t do that with Gazelle’s beautiful smirk taunting her.  
“Would you like to kiss again?” Gazelle asks and follows Roxy around the edge of the fountain.  
“Stop that,” Roxy snaps, “That’s an absurdly basic tactic, trying to confuse me.”  
“I don’t see what’s so confusing about a kiss.” Gazelle says evenly.  
That’s when it occurs to Roxy, “Christ! You’re trying to seduce me. You’re trying to get me to like you so that I won’t go through with my marriage to Harry. Really, I expected a better attack from you. I’m disappointed.”  
Gazelle catches up to her and places her hands lightly at Roxy’s waist, “But what if I do like you?”  
“No,” Roxy says and tries to extricate herself from Gazelle, “You just stay away from me.” She takes a step back, her heel catches in the gravel and suddenly she is pitched sideways. Gazelle tries to catch her to keep her from falling, and they both land with a huge splash in the fountain.  
They both come up sputtering for air. Roxy grabs her hat and stands.  
“Why don’t you stay underwater while I count to a million?” she says angrily and steps out of the fountain. She ignores Gazelle’s cries of “Roxy wait!”  
*  
Roxy sighs and collapses on to the sofa in her Grandma’s suite. This chewing out had been coming for a while but she had hoped maybe, just maybe, she could avoid for just a little longer. But no luck. As soon as the last party guests departed, there had been a summons to meet her Grandma in her suite that evening.  
“Okay. Start the tirade.” Roxy says tiredly.  
Her Grandma strides over and rests her elbows on the back of the sofa, so she can see Roxy properly, despite her being scrunched down.  
“When are you going to start acting responsibly,” her Grandma demands, “You were found hiding in a closet with a woman who is not your betrothed. Today you emerge, dripping wet from a fountain with the same woman who is still not your betrothed?”  
“Do you think I plan for this to happen,” Roxy asks, sitting up, “I just lost control of the situation. Sometimes you just lose it.”  
“We aren’t allowed to lose it,” her grandma says angrily and strides away from the sofa, waving her arms frantically above her head, “We can’t afford to lose it. Other people lose it. We’re supposed to find it!”  
She takes a deep breath and settles into her chair across from the sofa. She takes a few more deep breaths, and finally is calm enough to proceed.  
“Roxy, we are held to higher standards of behavior than others. What we do will always be looked at and picked apart. I don’t want the media to have any more fodder than they already have. Can you please try to grasp that concept?”  
“The concept is grasped,” Roxy says angrily, “The execution is just more difficult than it first appears to be.”  
“I would certainly say so,” her Grandma snorts. At Roxy’s glare, her grandma takes another deep breath to fight back the irritation, “Try to get some rest. You will need to look fresh for the parade tomorrow.”  
Roxy sits up properly, and launches herself over the back of the sofa. As she approaches the door her grandma calls out a rather annoyed goodnight.  
Roxy sighs sharply, then turns to face her, “Goodnight Grandmother.” she says, the strides out of the room.  
The most frustrating part of this is that her grandmother is right. She does need to be more responsible. If she is to be queen she has to stop acting so impulsively. The problem is though, she can’t stop thinking about how wonderful it felt to kiss Gazelle.


	7. Chapter 7

Roxy sighs as she settles on the seat of the carriage. Last night was a really long night. She spent half the night tossing and turning, wracked with guilt. Even though she and Harry have an arrangement that their marriage is more of a business transaction than anything else, she still feels like she betrayed him. The kiss with Gazelle wasn’t even her fault, not really. But the fact she leaned into it, wanted more, smacks of betrayal. Not even business partners are supposed to step out like that.Roxy is fairly certain it constitutes fraud or something of the like.  
Merlin climbs onto the back of the carriage, and rests a hand on her shoulder, “How are ye feeling?”  
“A bit like I was hit with a car,” Roxy admits, “Might feel better if Eggsy was allowed to ride in the carriage with us.”  
“Your Grandmother wanted this to be royals only. I am sure he and Harry will get along fine in the limo.” Merlin says.  
“I suppose.” Roxy sighs. They fall silent for a bit as they wait for the parade to fill in.  
“Would it make ye feel better if ye called me Hamish?” Merlin asks.  
“No,” Roxy laughs, “Merlin is just fine. It would be weird otherwise.”  
“It may not be my place to say, Princess, but I don’t think Gazelle meant to cause ye harm.” Merlin says conspiratorially.   
Roxy twists in her seat, ready to ask him what exactly he means. But the carriage dips slightly, as her Grandma steps in. The conversation is effectively cut off.   
“We must be off,” her Grandma says, “We simply can’t leave the people of Genovia waiting any longer.”  
“Explain to me again why we’re celebrating our independence day,” Roxy asks, “We are celebrating a bloody and pointless war that massacred thousands of catholics, are we not?”  
“We are celebrating the spirit of what we accomplished, and the fact we have managed to maintain our country-hood for this long,” her Grandma says, “Now hush about massacres. This parade is meant to be happy. Smile, wave, and enjoy the sunshine.”  
The drummers at the front of the parade start their chorus. Everything moves to the beat they set, and everything turns on to the main route of the parade. The carriage swings onto the main path, and Roxy does as instructed. She smiles, and waves.  
Much like when she first returned to the palace this summer, flags wave from every corner. Little babies try to join in the fun too. Chubby little fists grip the little flags as tight as they can and wag them gently in the direction of the parade.  
The crowd is cheering and clapping. Every now and then, strains of the national anthem drift through the air. It seems like no one is thinking about the coup brewing behind closed doors. As her Grandma said, they’re celebrating their country and all it’s growing pains. It’s rather nice, and it distracts Roxy from the constant turmoil.  
The carriage turns a corner, and Roxy’s gaze is drawn to the single patch of shade. A large group of children is standing there, not a single one of them is waving a flag. They’re waving and jumping around, obviously enthusiastic about the parade, but they aren’t holding anything festive.  
The thing that draws her attention most however, are the two young boys towards the back. They’re the only ones who aren’t paying attention to the parade. Instead they’re focused on the even younger girl in front of them. The keep waving their hands in front of her face, and tugging on her hair. Roxy can’t make out what they’re saying, but it looks fairly distressing for the little girl.  
“Stop the carriage,” Roxy calls and stands up, “I said stop the carriage!”  
The parade comes to a crashing halt. Some of the marching bands step on each other in the process. The dancers are all stuck half way through a count.  
It doesn’t matter though. Roxy refuses to let the bullying continue. She descends off the carriage steps, and crosses the street. All the children are frozen in place as she approaches. None of them have met a princess before.  
Roxy steps up to the little girl and smiles kindly at her, “Hello. What’s your name?”  
“Daisy.” the little girl answers shyly.  
Roxy looks at the two boys, eyes sharp, “And what are your names.  
“Jake.” one little boy answers.  
“Felix.” the other one responds.  
“Jake, Felix, did I see you bothering Daisy?” she asks. The boys fall over themselves trying to excuse their behavior but Daisy speaks up.  
“They were tugging on my hair.” Daisy says indignantly.  
The glare Roxy levels at Jake and Felix sends them running. She turns to the nearest adult in charge.  
“Excuse me. These children are?” she asks.  
“Orphans mostly,” the man answers, “The shelter cares for as many of them as we can.”  
Roxy nods once in understanding and turns back to Daisy, “Daisy, how would you like to be a princess today?”  
“But I’m not a princess.” Daisy answers, eyes wide.  
“Well we can change that. I officially declare that anyone can be a princess today,” she turns towards the tiara vendor a few paces away, “Why don’t we get you a tiara, and then you can march in the parade? In fact,” Roxy decides and turns to address the rst of the children, “Why don’t you all get tiaras and march in the parade?”  
“Give them all free tiaras?” the vendor asks, looking slightly pained.  
“I’ll cover it later.” Roxy insists.  
The vendor looks relieved. He starts passing out tiaras to everyone, including the boys in the group. The children are obviously excited, they all clamor for the color of tiara they want and bounce eagerly in place waiting for their turn. Once everyone has a tiara, Roxy helps Daisy of the planter she scaled to see the parade, and leads her to the front of the group. Roxy steps out onto the street.  
“Now remember, we are royalty. So you have to walk like you think royalty walks. So think tall, strong, proud. Believe that no one can hurt you, and most importantly I want you all to have fun,” she turns back to the drumline, “Drum roll please.”  
The drumline kicks off and she leads the procession of children into the parade, Daisy at her side.  
*  
“More hot water,” Chester yells at his maid, “Now please!”  
The maid comes rushing back into the living room, and dumps another pitcher of hot water into his foot bath. Satisfied he waves her away dismissively, and turns his attention back to Gazelle.  
“Continue with what you were saying about the Princess.” he sneers.  
Gazelle tips her chin stubbornly, “I think she is smart and capable. She clearly cares quite a lot for Genovia. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she ran the country.”  
“Are you mad?” Chester barks.  
“No,” Gazelle says simply. She isn’t mad, Roxy would make a better Queen than her any day. That was made clear at the parade, “She is very dedicated to her country. She has convinced herself to marry someone she can never love. I believe that she would be good for Genovia.”  
“I can not believe what I am hearing,” Chester says, “After all the work we put in? After everything I did to put you in this position? You want to back out? We would end up with nothing! Nothing! How can you say you want to back down?”  
“We wouldn't end up with nothing, Uncle,” Gazelle says with a roll of her eyes, “You wanted Genovia to be in good hands. The country would be in good hands, and Roxy could finally be happy.”  
“Oh,” Chester sighs, coming to a realization, “You’ve fallen in love with her.”  
“What? No just listen--” Gazelle starts. She’s attracted to Roxy, there’s no denying that. She’s beautiful, firey, funny. All things Gazelle enjoys. But she hasn’t fallen in love with her.  
“No no no no no no, you listen,” Chester huffs, “What do you think would happen hmm? That she would leave Harry and marry you? I put in all this effort to make you a Queen! Not to have you marry a Queen!”  
Gazelle sighs, “That wouldn’t happen. Roxy needs a man to secure her throne. Besides, she doesn’t care for me like that.”  
“Oh but you care for her,” Chester says, reaching out and pinching her cheeks, “You care for her a great deal.”  
“Don’t be ridiculous. Uncle, I just want us to stop trying to sabotage her. That’s all.” Gazelle insists.  
Chester takes a deep breath and closes his eyes to think it out. Gazelle starts to wonder if maybe she should look up the symptoms of an aneurysm online but he finally releases his breath. He turns to her, scrutinizes her for a second, then offers a tired smile.  
“Very well. If that’s what you want.” he relents.  
“It is.” Gazelle insists.  
“Then that is what we will do. I just want you happiness, my girl,” he says with a sigh, “Go to her hm? Apologize to her, and tell her we surrender. No more dirty political tricks.”  
Gazelle smiles, and stands from her seat, “Thank you Uncle.”  
She grabs the keys off the coffee table and heads out to the driveway. She slides into the driver's seat of the car, turns the ignition, and backs out onto the street. It should take her ten minutes, tops, to get to the palace. It is high time she apologized for everything she did to hurt Roxy. Including toying with her affections. She has an entire drive to construct an apology in her head.  
She’s sure her Uncle employed far more nefarious tactics to sabotage her. She can’t prove it but she’s almost sure that her uncle had something to do with Roxy’s horse throwing her when she reviewed the Royal Guard. It had been a disaster of epic proportions, and it was the first time Gazelle had felt a twinge of guilt about what they were doing. Seeing someone as calm as Roxy reduced to tears was awful.  
None of that matters now though. Roxy may still be required to wed Harry to gain her throne, but she can go forth into her rule without a dark cloud hanging over it. She won’t have to watch over her shoulder again. At least not when it comes to Gazelle.  
*  
Chester waits until the door closes, and he hears the car back out of the driveway, then he picks up his cell phone and dials a well known number. It hasn’t been a coincidence that reporters were there every time Princess Roxanne fumbled.  
The phone rings through until it connects to a receptionist.  
“Convergent Media,” the receptionist says cheerfully, “How can I help you.”  
“Get me Elsie Kenworthy please.” Chester instructs.  
“She’s rather busy at the moment. Is she expecting your call?” she asks.  
Chester rolls his eyes despite the receptionist not being able to see him over the phone, “No but she will answer. Inform her that a certain friend has a tip for another story.”  
“Okay. I will do that,” the receptionist says with that same grating cheerful voice, “Please hold.”  
There’s a click and the phone line rings silent for a second. Then the hold music comes on. It sounds like “Never Gonna Give You Up” and it’s already setting chester on edge. Really they should be playing jazz or something equally as classy. He takes the opportunity while he’s on hold to get more hot water for his feet.  
“Gretchen,” he yells and the maid come running in, “Empty this and refill it please. Thank you.”  
She hurries to his side and picks up the foot bath in order to dump it. Chester isn’t sure what the matter with her is. She’s a thoroughly nervous creature. It’s a wonder she isn’t constantly spilling things everywhere the way she trembles all the time. Chester would fire her but she is, unfortunately, too good at her job to let her go.  
The hold music stops, and Chester’s head perks up hopefully. No luck, it just switches to another song. He sighs in annoyance and slumps back in his chair. No matter. He’s been patient with his plan thus far, he can wait a little longer.  
Gretchen returns with the foot bath, freshly filled, and sets it in front of him. He sinks his feet into it with a content smile. Nothing is better than a good soak. Gretchen scurries from the room.  
Finally the hold music clicks off and the receptionist’s voice comes back on the line, “Ms. Kenworthy will take you call now. Please hold momentarily while I transfer you.”  
There’s another click, a few rings, then another click as the phone is answered.  
“Elsie Kenworthy.” she greets.  
“Hello Ms. Kenworthy,” Chester greets, “It is always a pleasure to speak to you.”  
“Ah Viscount King. You are always a reliable source. What can I do for you today?” she asks, and Chester can hear the smile in her voice.  
“I have it on good authority that Princess Roxanne will be meeting her lover tonight.” Chester says smugly.  
“I see. Can you tell me where?” she asks, and Chester can hear the click of her pen over the phone line.  
“I can but you must honor our agreement,” he reminds her.  
“Of course. All notes must be kept confidential, then burned once the story is written or the footage is caught. Your name is moved further up our donations list, and Lady Valentine recieves our support once she takes the crown.”  
“Very good,” Chester agrees, “Now listen carefully. Their rendezvous will be difficult to spot.”  
It was stupid of Gazelle to tell him where she always took her lovers when they were getting more serious. He carefully describes the path through the royal woods that will spit the reporter out on the lake. He describes in great detail exactly which tree Princess Roxanne and her mystery lover will be nestled under. He explains how to get the best footage of them. A small fishing boat on the water. He even describes the exact looks of the horses they will be riding.  
Once Elsie has written everything down, she puts the phone back to her ear, “As always Viscount, it is an honor to get your help with and support of Convergent Media. Thank you for your tip. I hope we will retain you as a loyal sponsor.”  
*  
Brigitte runs forward with the fire extinguisher and puts out the flaming arrow Roxy just fired. It imbedded itself in the grass but at least it’s closer than it has been. Roxy growls in annoyance, and immediately fishes another arrow from the quiver. She doesn’t try to light it this time. There’s no point in wasting arrows like that.  
She lets another one fly and almost screams when it arcs over the top of the target. She isn’t used to not being able to pick up a skill as easily as breathing. The stress of the impending coronation only seems to worsen her aim. And Eggsy isn’t helping.   
About halfway through training he picked up a bow in solidarity but his skills have far outstripped hers. She’s used to beating him at everything. Especially things involving aim. She’s kicked his arse at quarters more times than she can count, and he refuses to play darts with her anymore. So he’s understandably, frustratingly, smug when his arrow sails through the hoop every time.  
He sees her tense shoulders, “Rox, you gotta calm down. You’re thinking too much yeah? Every time you miss, you lose your shit and over correct.”  
“Thank you for your input, Eggsy,” Roxy says sharply, “I’m afraid there’s more pressure on some of us to perform this task perfectly.”  
“Take a breath, alright,” Eggsy says, “You already singed Harry’s jacket.”  
“Don’t worry about that,” Harry insists, “It didn’t hit my skin at all.”  
“You sure mate?” Eggsy asks and picks up Harry’s arm to take a look for himself.  
“I am fine,” Harry says again, and gently extricates his arm from Eggsy’s grip, “Thank you for worrying.”  
Roxy takes a deep breath and forces herself to unclench her muscles. THey’re right of course. She’s been working herself into a frenzy for weeks over this stupid flaming arrow tradition. She draws another arrow, knocks it, and aims towards the hoop. When she lets it fly, it glances off the metal but it's the closest she´s come in months to doing it correctly.   
The relief is cut short by whistling. Eggsy’s head snaps to looks at her, they both recognize that whistling. It’s Gazelle.  
“Eggsy can I talk to you a minute?” Roxy asks.  
“Yeah! ‘Course you can,” Eggsy says acting dumb, “What’s up?”  
They walk away from the group where they can’t be overheard. Gazelle strides around the corner, hands in her jeans.  
“What should I do?” Roxy hisses.  
“I dunno. Do you want to talk to her?” Eggsy asks.  
“Maybe?” Roxy answers uncertainly.  
“Should I shoo her? Should I shoo him? Tell me who to shoo, and I’ll shoo.” Eggsy says.  
Roxy nods, and they walk back over to Harry and the maids. Roxy smiles at him, “Why don’t you and Eggsy go have lunch with your parents? I’ll be up in a minute.”  
Eggsy shuffles Harry along, and glances over his shoulder to mouth “Good luck.”  
Gazelle walks across the lawn, and tilts her head towards the bow still in Roxy’s hand, “Want some help?”  
“Sure.” Roxy says with a small shrug, and lines up with the target again.  
“Take your stance.” Gazelle instructs.  
ROxy takes her stance for what feels like the millionth time, and Gazelle laughs slightly.  
“Bring your back elbow down, just a touch,” she suggests, and Roxy follows through, “Good. USe your mouth as an anchor.”  
“Excuse me?” Roxy asks and Gazelle rolls her eyes playfully.  
“Touch your mouth.” she repeats, and steps closer, “Relax this hand,” she places her own hand on top of the one Roxy is using to hold the bow up, “Good. Now relax your shoulder,” Gazelle’s other hand comes to rest on her shoulder, “Now breathe in… and release.”  
The arrow flies from the bow, dead straight. Then it imbeds itself in the backdrop behind the hoop.  
“How did that feel?” Gazelle asks with a grin.  
“Wonderful,” Roxy admits, “Really wonderful.”  
She turns her head to look at Gazelle and realizes they’re closer than they have been since kissing. Roxy bites her lip.  
“I have to go,” Gazelle says softly, “I only came back to get my things.”  
“You’re leaving?” Roxy asks. She is definitely not disappointed. Not in the slightest.  
“I think it’s time I bowed out gracefully don’t you?” Gazelle asks.  
They both sigh and Roxy holds out the hand not hold the bow, “Goodbye.”  
“Goodbye.” Gazelle says and shakes her hand.   
They separate and roxy moves to pack away the equipment for the day. GAzelle takes a few hesitant steps closer to her.  
“Could I see you one last time before I go?”  
“Oh, Gazelle, I’m watched like a hawk.” Roxy says and sure enough Merlin appears from around a bend.  
“I’ll find a way.” Gazelle promises.


	8. Chapter 8

“So you gonna tell me what went on between you and Gazelle after Harry and I disappeared?” Eggsy asks, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table.  
They’re both in pajamas. Eggsy is in a tshirt and boxers, Roxy is in a tshirt as well but with grey flannel pants. Her Hair is up in a sloppy bun for the night.  
She sighs and puts her feet in Eggsy’s lap, “She’s leaving. She wanted me to know that it was time she bowed out.”  
“Why do you sound so disappointed by that?” Eggsy asks, resting a warm palm on her ankle.  
“If I tell you, then you have to promise not to breath a word of it to anyone else.” Roxy says seriously.  
“You got my promise bruv. Nothing gets out.” Eggsy swears.  
Roxy adjusts her position so she can look at him properly, “It’s been stressful, trying to hold onto the crown, but in a weird way her trying to take it from me gave me a challenge. It kept me on my toes and made ruling seem less dismally boring.”  
“So you’re basically in love with her yeah?” Eggsy asks and Roxy throws a pillow at him.  
“Shut up.” she grumbles.  
Eggsy just grins at her, “I’m right though ain’t I?”  
“Maybe a little.” Roxy admits reluctantly.  
Eggsy gives her ankle a commiserating squeeze. They both fall silent to consider the implications of what Roxy just admitted. The first girl she’s ever had proper feelings for, something more than lust, and she can’t even try to be with her. Her life is entirely dictated by the whims of some old men. Fucking typical.  
Something outside clicks against the window and their heads turn vaguely in the direction of the noise. Idle curiosity drawing their attention. When nothing is clearly visible as the source, Roxy turns her attention back to trying to choose a Netflix program.  
There’s another click, and Roxy nudges Eggsy with her foot.  
“You go check it out.” she says.  
“Why me?” Eggsy whines.  
“Because the Future Queen of Genovia asked you to.” Roxy says with a grin.  
Eggsy shoves her feet off his lap, “Yes Your Excellent Most Glorious Majesty.” he says sarcastically.  
He stands up and heads for the picture window off the side of the room. He opens it and sticks his head out. He ducks back in quickly, and turns to Roxy.  
“You’re gonna want to get your coat.” he announces.  
“What? Why?” Roxy asks.  
“Come see who’s here.” he says.  
Roxy rolls her eyes and stands up from the sofa, “Honestly Eggsy, if this is a prank,” she mutters as she crosses the room. She leans out the window to see what all the fuss is about, “oh.” she says dumbly.  
Gazelle is standing below, with their horses fully saddled.  
“Hello Roxy,” she calls, “Would you like to come down?”  
Roxy ducks back inside and drags Eggsy with her, “What the fuck do I do?”  
“What do you want to do? You wanna go with her?” he asks.  
“A bit,” Roxy answers, “But Harry…”  
“Look Rox, you can mope around here and be miserable if that’s what you want. But you’re getting married in three days. You really wanna stay trapped in here that whole time, or do you wanna say ‘fuck it’ and go on a midnight ride with Princess Charming down there?”  
Roxy hesitates for a second, considering the consequences, “Oh fuck it.” she decides.  
“Good girl Rox.” Eggsy says with a grin.  
Roxy darts back inside and jams herself into a leather jacket, and riding boots, then returns to the window.  
“Okay. You talked me into this, you have to help me get down.” Roxy announces.  
“Sounds fair,” Eggsy agrees and hangs out the window again to scope out a path down, “Alright, you’re gonna dig your hands into the vines next to the window and climb down until you reach the balcony outside your gran’s study. Then from her balcony, you’re gonna climb over the railing, and crouch until you can get a good grip on the bars, dangling from there is gonna get you low enough that letting go won’t hurt. Got it?”  
“Vines to balcony, balcony to ground,” Roxy says, “Got it.”  
She takes a deep breath, and steps up onto the windowsill. She turns, and shuffles sideways until she can grab the vines. She squeezes her eyes shut as she waits to see if they hold her weight, they do. She sighs in relief and starts climbing down. She reaches her Grandma’s balcony, and tries to step sideways onto the railing. Her boot gets caught in a tangle, and she falls forward, slamming against the window.  
Inside her Grandma’s head shoots up, looking for the source of the noise. Roxy freezes, only partially obscured by the leaves and the wall. Brigitte and Brigitta are inside as well, and the spot her within an instant.  
“Help.” Roxy mouths, not expecting them to help. Instead the rise to the occasion fabulously. They step in front of the window, and literally burst into song and dance. It obscures a path for Roxy and distracts her Grandma.  
Roxy gets her foot free, and drops on to the balcony. She does as Eggsy said and climbs over the railing. When she has crouched far enough, she eases her feet over the edge of the balcony. She dangles in free space for a second, then drops to the ground with barely a sound.   
Gazelle grins at her, and passes her the bridle of her horse. Roxy mounts up, and gestures for Gazelle to lead the way. Gazelle mounts as well, and takes off at a gallop towards the woods. Roxy follows close behind, not caring that she’s just in pajamas.  
They slow as they approach the lake, and eventually reigns her horse in and dismounts. Roxy does the same and they both tie their horses to a nearby tree so they don’t wander away.  
At the base of a tree near the water’s edge is a little nest of blankets. A large plaid one keeps them from having to sit directly on the ground. Then piled around the sides are more blankets in case they get cold. It’s exceedingly cozy.  
They settle on the plaid blanket and Roxy drags a spare over her lap to ward off the night time chill. Gazelle notices and snorts softly.  
“I suppose I should have given you some warning.” she says.  
Roxy shrugs, “It was better this way.”  
They fall silent again and Roxy glances out over the lake. The moonlight reflects off of it like little pearls. Everything is beautiful and peaceful.   
She glances over at Gazelle, who’s already watching her, “Why are we here?”  
Gazelle shrugs, “I wanted to see you one last time, like I said.”  
“Why did you want to see me one last time?” Roxy asks.  
“If you’re going to be asking this many questions we could at least turn it into a game.” Gazelle huffs.  
“Fine,” Roxy agrees, “Thumb wrestling?”  
Gazelle laughs and shakes her head, “I was thinking more along the lines of twenty Questions. But I suppose thumb wrestling works.”  
“We can do both.” Roxy decides and holds her hand out.  
Gazelle hooks her fingers into Roxy’s, and they do the traditional coun off. As they engage in combat, Roxy asks again “Why did you want to see me again?”  
“Start easier.” Gazelle answers.  
Roxy sighs, “Tell me a fact about yourself.”  
“I will occasionally put chocolate milk in my cereal. You?”   
“I hate heights,” Roxy answers and traps Gazelle’s thumb long enough to win, “What is your middle name?”  
“Amelia,” Gazelle answers and they start another thumb war. This time she wins, “Why are you marrying Harry?”  
“You know why.” Roxy answers, shooting her an exasperated look.  
“Do I?” Gazelle asks.  
“I’m marrying Harry because I want to rule Genovia. I can’t change the law until I am Queen and my Grandmother was backed into a corner. By your uncle, I might add.” Roxy says engaging in another thumb battle. Gazelle wins again.  
“Do you think you will be able to change their minds as queen?” she asks.  
“I can only hope,” Roxy answers. She wins this time, “Tell me a secret.”  
“I would fake sick to get out of school.” Gazelle answers.  
Roxy is unimpressed, “Everyone has done that.”  
Gazelle tilts her head in agreement, “I haven’t danced with you since your return to court.”  
“That isn’t a secret.” Roxy points out.  
“The secret,” Gazelle says slowly, “is that I still want to.”  
“Oh.” Roxy says softly.  
She pulls her hand free from Gazelle’s, and slowly steps off the blanket. She offers her hand again, a little hesitant. Gazelle stares at her for several seconds, then takes Roxy’s hand. They stand chest to chest, and Roxy loops her arms around Gazelle’s neck.  
“There isn’t any music.” Gazelle points out, and rests her hands on Roxy’s lower back.  
“I know.” Roxy says softly. She sways them softly side to side. She hums a few strains of the song that was playing when they first danced. Gazelle smiles softly,and rests her forehead against Roxy’s. They stay like that, swaying back and forth, long after Roxy has lost the trail of the song she was humming.  
“You’re shivering.” Gazelle whispers, eventually.  
“I’m cold.” Roxy admits. It doesn’t matter though. She doesn’t want to leave this moment.  
Gazelle sways them back towards the blanket. She guides Roxy down, and covers them both with a blanket. They lay face to face, listening to each other breathe.   
Roxy tucks the blanket up to her chin, “Are you ever going to tell me why you wanted to see me one last time?”  
“It seemed cold. I didn’t want to leave things as they were.” she explains.  
“Because you fucked up somewhere along the line and fell for me?” Roxy asks.  
“Something like that. Yes.” Gazelle says, and brushes a stray hand of Roxy’s hair from her forehead.  
Neither of them quite know what to do with that confession. Roxy has been hoping to hear that since the first time they first met. Now though, it just seems rather sad. Two girls trapped in impossible situations because of the impulsivity of one man.  
Roxy shuffles onto her back so she can see the stars through the tree branches. If this position happens to bring her closer to Gazelle, then so be it.  
“If you try to say something poetic about me being as beautiful as the stars, I will take back everything I just said.” Gazelle warns her and Roxy laughs.  
“Hardly. You are by far uglier than the stars.” she teases and rolls her head to look at Gazelle.  
They watch each other in silence again. Roxy can just barely feel Gazelle’s breath against her cheek. Gazelle brushes away that stray hair again and leaves her fingers against Roxy, she traces her forehead, her cheekbones, lips. She hesitates there a second, as if hypnotized, then leans in, and kisses her once. Gentle.  
Roxy sighs and rolls to her side so she can press just a little closer. Gazelle rests her lips against Roxy’s forehead. There’s nothing to say really. They both know this moment for what it is, a respite.  
Roxy is still going to marry Harry. Gazelle is still going to disappear from court before the wedding. After this they will go back to being cordial, although Roxy knows she’ll have to add extra chill in the air because no one can know Gazelle backed out of her own volition.  
Gazelle drapes another blanket over the top of them. Roxy resettles so her head is tucked under Gazelle’s chin. She’s perfectly warm now, and Gazelle smells wonderful. It’s the most comfortable she’s been since leaving London. It’s easy to find herself drifting off. She fights it for a slong as she can but eventually, she falls asleep, curled into Gazelle. Gazelle drifts off as well, blissfully unaware of the world around them.  
The sun rises over the horizon and hits Roxy just across her eyes. Unable to ignore the light anymore, she slowly opens her eyes, and wakes to the world around her. She’s momentarily confused when she sees she’s outside but then Gazelle stirs awake next to her, and she remembers everything that happened.  
“Good morning.” Roxy croaks.  
Gazelle smiles groggily and rubs her thumb along Roxy’s arm, “Good morning.”  
“We stayed out all night,” Roxy remarks and she sits bolts upright, “We stayed out all night,” she repeats louder, then sinks back on her hands with a laugh, “I can’t believe we stayed out all night.”  
Gazelle hums sleepily, and continues to run her fingers along Roxy’s arm. Roxy still has a little time before she has to get back to the palace, she can stay here for a little while longer.   
She looks out across the lake. It isn’t as romantic in the daylight but it is still a gorgeous sight to wake up to. Everything is peaceful. Birds are just beginning to stir, animals are not yet running through the underbrush.  
Something moves at the corner of her eye, and she turns her head to see what it is. There’s a small fishing boat anchored near by. Roxy wonders what about ot drew her attention. Just then it shifts again, and Roxy catches sight of a man inside.  
“There’s a man in that boat.” she remarks to Gazelle.  
“Probably just a fisherman.” Gazelle says, sitting up.  
The man inside shifts again, and Roxy’s stomach drops, “A man with a professional video camera?”  
“What?” Gazelle asks.  
“That’s really low. Even for you.” Roxy snarls. She tosses the blankets aside and stands up.  
Gazelle spots the camera and scrambles to her feet, “Roxy. I didn’t arrange this.”  
“That’s such fucking shit,” Roxy yells, “I hope you got the footage you were hoping for last night!”  
“Roxy. That is not my camera.” Gazelle insists but Roxy is already mounting her horse.  
“Go to hell.” she says, coldly.  
The ride back to the palace is a mad dash of anger and adrenaline. She isn’t sure what to do but she knows no good can come of staying to have it out. She stables her horse, and runs into the palace. She needs to get back to her rooms before her Grandma finds out that she was gone.  
The stairs seem to go on forever. Every passing second, Roxy can feel her universe crashing around her. Any moment now Gazelle and her Uncle are going to release the footage. Harry will leave because really there’s only so much a man’s dignity can take. Her throne will be ripped away from her, after she came so close. Everything will be ruined simply because she wanted to spend time with a pretty girl.  
She pushes open the doors to her room. She expects to find Eggsy there alone. Instead, he’s standing by her bed while her Grandma glares him down. Roxy stops short, caught red handed.  
“Care to explain what exactly is going on?” her Grandma asks.  
Roxy opens her mouth to respond but nothing will come out. She stands there, gaping like a fish, until Amelia bursts into the room.  
“Your majesty, your highness, you’re going to want to see this.” she picks up the remote for the TV, and turns to the news channel.  
On screen is the footage from this morning. Roxy watches herself with Gazelle, and how lovestruck she looks. On screen, she throws the blankets at Gazelle and rides away.  
There’s a reporter narrating, “After years of boring royals who never stepped a toe out of line, we finally have a world class scandal. Just two days before her wedding, Princess Roxanne is found wrapped in the arms of young Lady Valentine. Is Princess Roxanne finally out of the frying pan and into the fire? This is Elsie Kenworthy, remember, keep your eggs sunny side up.” the narration ends with the reporter smiling next to a pan of eggs.  
“I’d like to tell her what she can do with her eggs.” Eggsy grumbles darkly.  
“Everyone leave us please,” her Grandma commands. The room clears out and she drapes her arm around Roxy’s shoulders as she begins to cry, “So?” she asks softly, hoping for an explanation.  
“I got played.” Roxy says through the tears.  
“Ah.l,” her Grandma says, “The real question is, do we still have a wedding?”  
*  
Roxy chases Harry down the palace steps, “Harry wait! Please!”  
Harry stops, though he’s clearly protesting, Roxy can see the tense line of his shoulders from a three yards away. She catches up to him, and places her hand on his wrist.  
“What?” he asks, tightly.  
“I’m so sorry. Nothing happened. I swear.” Roxy insists.  
Harry turns to face her, “I believe you but you still went Roxy. You still went. I don’t think you understand what kind of situation you have put us in. I still think this marriage is a good idea but…” he trails off with an angry shake of his head.  
“But what?” Roxy asks, waiting for the worst.  
Without warning, Harry surges forward and kisses her. It’s so jarring that Roxy stumbles back several steps. When he pulls away he looks at her curiously.  
“Anything?” he asks.  
“I want to say yes,” Roxy says with a grimace, “but no. There’s just.. Nothing there.”  
“Oh thank god,” Harry sighs, “Me too.”  
“Really?” Roxy asks.  
“Really.” Harry agrees with a chuckle.  
Roxy sags against the railing, “What am I going to do? I suppose figure something out. I can’t expect you to go through with this. Especially not now.”  
“Roxy,” Harry says softly and pauses as two palace guards walk by. He wants this to be private, “You chose me, and I accepted. And a gentleman never backs out on his word. Two days from now, we will stand up in that church, and say ‘I do’, and you will make an amazing Queen of Genovia.”


	9. Chapter 9

Roxy stares at herself blankly in the mirror. Her hair and makeup is finished to perfection. Not even an eyelash is out of place. She should be feeling proud of how well it all turned out, but she's just numb instead.  
“I'm getting married today.” she says dumbly.  
“Admitting it out loud is the first step.” Eggsy responds from where he's struggling to tie his tie.  
Roxy turns in her seat, “That's for addiction, Eggsy.”  
“Fine. Then the five stages of grief or whatever. Bargaining and depression and shit. Now you're on step five which is acceptance ain't it?” Eggsy asks and pulls his tie free to start the knot again.  
“Has anyone told you that you're exceedingly idiotic first thing in the morning?” Roxy asks him and, taking pity, rises from her seat to help him with his tie.  
“Nah. Usually whoever’s with me in the morning is too happy to think about what I'm saying.” Eggsy says with a wink, and turns to face Roxy so she can tie his tie for him.  
Roxy stifles a giggle at that and sighs, “Christ. I can't believe you convinced me to choose fuscia as wedding color.”  
“Excuse you it's called ‘Razzmatazz’.” Eggsy says, fighting a grin.  
He and Roxy look at each other and burst into laughter. The memory of the wedding planner nearly tearing her hair out when Roxy refused to call the color by its actual name, is a fond one.  
Eggsy had talked Roxy into her color scheme being Razzmatazz and Quartz Silver because she deserved to have some fun with the planning. Roxy was able to convince Eggsy not to get a fuscia velvet smoking jacket for his bridesmaid jacket, so instead his jacket is silver but the tie is fuscia.  
Roxy steps back once the knot is tied to her satisfaction, and has to blink a few times. Focusing on that bright of a color for so long leaves spots in front of her eyes. She smooths Eggsy’s jacket and nods once.  
“You look good.” Roxy says.  
“That's great and all Rox, but you kinda need to get dressed to.” Eggsy points out.  
Roxy sighs, and straightens up as proudly as she can. She enters her closet and carefully removes her dress from the hangar. She's relieved it isn't some giant ball gown. It's full length, but it's made out of silk so it's fairly light. It's inspired by the twenties the skirt falls in layers, and lace short sleeves float off her shoulders and meet at her [waist](https://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F736x%2F3e%2F9a%2F30%2F3e9a300cbd88de2c05770b1b783aba7b--s-style-dresses-edwardian-wedding-dresses.jpg&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.pinterest.com%2Fexplore%2F1920s-wedding-dresses%2F&docid=7mTvT2eOUl01-M&tbnid=xYPDzIZwL3CuTM%3A&vet=1&w=555&h=500&hl=en-us&source=sh%2Fx%2Fim).  
“Zip me up?” She calls to Eggsy and he slips into the closet as well. The zipper slips easily up its intended track, and the dress hugs Roxy like a glove. Eggsy steps back, and hands her the tiara she's meant to wear with it. She places it in her hair, then faces Eggsy.  
“Looking good Rox.” Eggsy says with a soft smile.  
“Pretty sick view,” she agrees, “Suppose we should get in the car.”  
*  
“Are you sure you aren't going to the wedding my girl?” Chester asks, looking concerned at the way Gazelle is sprawled sadly on the sofa.  
“I think I have made enough of a fool of myself. Don't you uncle,” Gazelle asks, “My arrival at the wedding would only make things harder for Roxy.”  
“I understand,” Chester says with a fatherly squeeze to her shoulder, “After the hatchet job on the two of you, I would imagine things are tense. I would stay home in solidarity but as a member of parliament, I must go.”  
“Of course Uncle,” Gazelle says and sits up properly, “You go. I will be fine here on my own.”  
“You are a very strong girl.” Chester says, voice proud. He looks like he’s trying to avoid leaving. Gazelle shakes her head slightly.  
“Go,” she insists, standing up to shuffle him out of the door, “If you’re late, it will only be seen as a bigger insult considering the stunt you pulled.”  
“You are of course, right my dear girl,” Chester says, picking up his top hat and cane from the entrance table, “I won’t stay for the reception. I am not welcome there. Bur this is a disaster in the making, and I wouldn’t miss a moment of it.”  
“Then I will see you tonight.” Gazelle insists, and shoves Chester out the door firmly. She waits by the door until she hears the engine roar to life. As the tires crunch over the gravel in the driveway, Gazelle heads back to her spot on the sofa.  
She collapses there, and picks up the book she was reading before her uncle interrupted. The words flow into her head and wash out her ears. Having not absorbed the words for almost five pages, she sets her book down and reaches for the remote. She flicks through channel after channel but every one has suspended the regular programming in order to cover the wedding, including the channel that plays reruns of fifties tv shows for the elderly in retirement communities.  
Annoyed, she shuts the tv off as well. She tosses the remote on to the coffee table, and rolls over. If she can’t avoid the wedding, she may as well sleep through it instead. She snuggles down into the cushions, her sweats riding up just a bit.  
She’d tried calling the castle twice after the incident. Every time though she was blocked before she could get by so much as a maid. She hopes a nap will somehow magically solve all of her problems.  
She’s just drifting off when someone makes a noise. Gazelle tries to ignore it but the person dies it again, more persistent. “Pssst!”  
Gazelle sits up, and looks around. Gretchen is glancing at her from around the corner into the kitchen.  
“What?” she asks, irritated.  
“Is your Uncle gone?” Gretchen asks nervously.  
“Yes. He just left. Why?” Gazelle demands.  
Immediately, Gretchen rushes from the kitchen and comes to a stop by the sofa. She crouches down slightly so she’s level with Gazelle.  
“It was no accident that the reporter found you, my lady.” Gretchen confides.  
“Excuse me?” Gazelle asks.  
“Your Uncle set you up.” she says.  
“Why on earth would he do that?” Gazelle scoffs.  
“I do not wish to be the bearer of bad news, but you must believe me. He called Ms. Kenworthy almost as soon as you left to organize a truce with Princess Roxanne. He told her exactly where to find you.” Gretchen insists.  
Gazelle’s heart leaps into her throat. She can’t say it doesn’t make sense. He’d given in far too easily when she said she wanted to abdicate.  
“And, my lady, if I may be so bold,” Gretchen says, “He seemed almost gleeful when you said you weren’t going. I am worried he might be up to something.”  
Gazelle jumps up from the sofa and crams her feet into her docs, “I have to get to the church.”  
“Yes but everything with four wheels is already rented for the wedding.” Gretchen points out, hands fluttering nervously.  
“I’ll run.” Gazelle says, shrugging into her jacket.  
“No my lady,” Gretchen cries, “There’s no time! You must take the bike.”  
“Bike? What bike?” Gazelle asks, confused.  
“Your grandfather’s bike.” Gretchen answers and points to the antique bike mounted to the wall. It’s going to be a bitch to ride but Gretchen is right when she says it will be faster. Together they haul the bookshelf in front of it, away from the wall. Gazelle lifts the bike of its pegs and does her best not to let it faul on her. She has a feeling if it falls, it won’t get back up.  
Gretchen helps her wheel it outside. They get it down the front steps and Gretchen balances it while Gazelle swings up into the seat. Gazelle pedals furiously, trying to get traction, and Gretchen gives the bike a mighty shove. Finally, the bike lurches and Gazelle is off down the lane.  
“Good luck!” Gretchen calls after her.  
Once the bike picks up momentum it is much easier to keep it upright and moving ahead. It is faster than trying to run all the way there, but the frame is solid metal, and heavy. It ways more than Gazelle does and by the time she makes it to the top of one hill, she feels like she’s dying. She’s in excellent shape but even she is struggling with this ride. Her breath is coming in short gasps.  
She coasts down the back side of the hill, and uses the momentum to propel her forward. She rides through a patch of road turned completely to mud and it slows the turn of the wheels. Off to the side out in the field, a man is herding his sheep. On a horse.  
Gazelle leaps off the bike, and lets it fall against the fence. She jumps the fence, and runs straight for the man on his horse. He’s talking on his cell phone as she approaches, and she can hear him say to whoever he’s talking to, “You’re not going to believe this. Lady Valentine just jumped off a bike and is running towards me.”  
“Sir, I need your horse!” Gazelle calls.  
The man is already dismounting when he says into the phone, “And she needs my horse!”  
He passes the reigns to her, and she mounts up, “Thank you.”  
“Wait. How am I supposed to herd my sheep?” he asks.  
“You are welcome to the bike!” Gazelle answers, and kicks the horse into a gallop to the church.  
*  
Roxy takes a deep breath as the church entrance door swings shut behind her. She takes a seat in an office to wait while guests filter in. Outside she can just make out her Grandma welcoming guests and directing them inside. The longer Roxy waits, the worse her nerves become.  
Eggsy was directed to wait with the rest of the wedding party in a different room. Without his sunshine-y and obnoxious presence by her side, the pressure of everything she is entering into starts to come crashing over her head. She has no idea how she’s supposed to make a life with Harry.  
There’s a knock at the office door and Roxy’s head shoots up, “Come in!” she calls.  
The door swings open and Eggsy grins at her, “I may have a little surprise for you.”  
“What are you talking about?” Roxy asks, suddenly irritated by how cavalier Eggsy is being.  
Eggsy pushes the door the rest of the way open. Standing next to him is a tall stoic man. He’s wearing an impeccable suit, and glasses. He offers Roxy a small smile.  
“Uncle Percy!” Roxy cries, and runs across the room to launch herself into his arms.  
Percival catches her and holds her in a tight hug. Roxy is relieved to see him. He and Uncle James were the ones who raised her. The idea of them not coming to the wedding was almost unbearable. It’s probably the most important day in her life. SHe wants her fathers there for her.  
“It’s good to see you Roxy.” Percival says warmly.  
“I didn't think you were coming,” Roxy says, stepping back, “Is Uncle James here?”  
“He is. He's already saving our seats. We didn't want to miss your wedding.” Percival explains.  
“You walking her down the aisle then?” Eggsy asks cheerfully.  
Percival looks pained for a moment and he squeezes Roxy’s hand, “I am afraid neither of us will be walking you down.”  
“Oh.” Roxy says dumbly. She had just assumed that one of them would. They flew all the way out just for her.  
“We are leaving that honor to your grandma,” Percival says, only his eyes giving away the disgust he feels, “It was her choice to push you into this wedding rather than fight back. We came to support you. Not the wedding.”  
Roxy supposes she can understand that. After all she wouldn't have even considered getting married if it weren't for the rule. She knows her grandma was backed into a corner, out voted by parliament, but she should have realized beforehand that any discontent among parliament would lead to something like this.  
“I understand.” She says simply and Percival wraps her in another hug.  
“I should go take my seat. I think the last of the guests are arriving.” Percival says with one last squeeze and heads out of the door.  
It's silent for a few seconds.  
“Fucking prick.” Eggsy spits.  
“He has a point.” Roxy points out softly.  
“Don't matter. What's done is done. Ain't gonna fucking kill him to walk you down.” He says indignantly.  
“I know but there's no reason to argue it. Once he makes up his mind it's almost impossible to change it,” there's a knock on the door and one of the bridesmaids pokes her head around the door to ask for Eggsy, “Go,” Roxy insists, “I have to get married no matter how long you stand here and defend my honor.”  
She listens as the bridesmaids and groomsmen line up. The music starts and as soon as Eggsy exists into the nave, Roxy leaves the office and takes her place just behind the doors. Merlin is waiting.  
“I can't believe I'm doing this.” She says faintly.  
“The heart does things for reasons that reason can never understand.” Merlin says, trying to be comforting.  
“Preaching to the choir.” Roxy grumbles.  
Merlin looks at her with a small tilt of his head, “Then ye should know, Gazelle didn't set you up.”  
“How…” Roxy trails off.  
“The maids know all.” Merlin says and Roxy’s music cues.  
The doors swing open, and she starts the long walk down the aisle. It seems to stretch in front of her for miles. Every time she takes a step, Merlin’s voice rings in her ears “didn't set ye up”. She takes another step and comes level with the middle of the aisle. She can't get her feet to move further. Harry is watching, concerned, from the front.  
Without her permission, Roxy’s feet turn, and carry her back up the aisle. She shoves the doors open and continues her mad dash for the front of the church. She emerges on to the front steps, and is momentarily at peace when fresh air washes over her. Then she heard the click of cameras and the yells of reporters.  
Once again her feet carry her away without her permission. She finds herself hidden in the church’s private garden. She collapses on to the bench and tries to bring her breathing back to normal.  
There’s a crunch of high-heels on gravel and Roxy looks up. Her Grandma is standing a few feet away, face creased with worry. She joins Roxy on the bench and wraps an arm around her.  
“I’m sorry Grandma. I’ll be fine. I just need a few minutes.” Roxy assures her.  
“Somehow my darling, I don’t think that’s going to happen.” her Grandma says softly.  
“I can’t fucking do this.” Roxy says simply.  
“I know,” her Grandma says, “Listen to me. I made the decision to get married nearly fifty years ago, because I thought it was right for me. You, my dear, don’t need to make the same decision. Maintain the throne cost me the only man I ever loved, and much more. I want you to make the decision that is meant for you.”  
Roxy sighs and takes a moment to truly think about what she’s doing. In the end her choice is obvious. She rolls her shoulders back, and stands. With an approving nod from her Grandma, she starts the walk back to the church.  
The doors swing open for her at the front and she strides through without breaking step. The doors to the nave swing open as well, and Merlin holds out the bouquet she dropped when she bolted. She waves it off and shakes her head slightly. Merlin retracts his arm and lets her proceed, unhindered, down the aisle.  
She comes to a stop in front of Harry, and takes a deep breath, “Everyone deserves a chance to be happy don’t you think?”  
“Of course.” Harry answers warily.  
“Even us?” Roxy asks and slips her engagement ring off her finger.  
Harry slowly takes it from her, he stares at the little circle of metal held between his first finger and thumb, then lets out an amused snort, “Thank you.”  
Roxy raises an eyebrow in question.  
“For saving me from doing the noble thing for once in my life,” Harry explains and Roxy can’t miss the way Harry’s eyes flick briefly over Eggsy, “I have to tell mother.”  
“I have to tell everyone else.” Roxy responds.  
They look at each other for a second, then simultaneously whisper “Good luck.”  
Roxy mounts the steps on to the stage, and Harry returns to his seat. Roxy walks over to the preacher's podium, and faces out at the crowd.  
“A few minutes ago, I came to the realization that I was only getting married because of an old, sexost, and outdared law. And frankly that’s fucking ridiculous,” Roxy says and takes satisfaction when a few of the crowd members wince at her language.  
“I will not be getting married today. My Grandmother has ruled without a man beside her for several years and, to be perfectly clear, there has never been a more effective rule. As her granddaughter, I plan on following in her footsteps. I implore the members of parliament to consider what they are trying to make me do, and ask themselves why they are enforcing a law from the times when women were still considered property.  
I can rule Genovia. I may have come to this country later in life than some, but it is still dear to me. I love this country. For fuck’s sake, I am up here in a wedding dress for that exact reason. I am ready to take my place as Genovia’s queen, without a man.”  
There’s a moment of complete silence. Then the entire audience bursts into applause. Underneath it all, Roxy can hear Eggsy hiss “Yes! Good girl Rox!”  
The applause dies down, but Roxy’s triumph is short lived. Chester rises from his seat in the pews, satisfied smirk distorting his smug face.  
“Every time,” he starts, “Every time this beautiful young woman opens her mouth, she demonstrates a contempt for the traditions of Genovia. The law clearly states, that a young woman must be married if she wishes to inherit the throne. As she is refusing to be married, then she will not inherit. Thankfully,” here he puffs his chest up even bigger than it already is, “There is another heir.”  
“No. There is not.” Gazelle states clearly from the back.  
The audience swivels in their seats, shocked. Gazelle is still in her sweats and sports bra. The leather jacket she’s wearing is the only thing preventing giving some of the older folks heart attacks at the disrespect to God.  
“What do you mean there is not?” Chester demands.  
“I refuse to take up the crown. I suggest you all listen to Princess Roxanne. She is the one who can lead this country as it should be led. Besides think how lovely she will look on our postage stamps,” Gazelle says with a small smile in Roxy’s direction, “Now. If that is settled, I need to return a horse.”  
“Lovely on a postage stamp,” Chester practically explodes, “You would look lovely on a postage stamp!”  
Gazelle simply turns on her heel and strides out. Chester rams his way out of the pew, toppling a topiary in the process. His foot is momentarily tangled in a drape of fabric, and he hops to shake it loose.  
This setback does not stop his roaring, “How dare you! Come back here madam! You have a duty to the crown! You have a duty to Genovia! I did not aim to make you queen so you could squander the opportunity!”  
He chases after Gazelle even as she disappears into the entry hall. Quickly her Grandma motions for the doors to be shut.  
Distraction contained, the audience turns its attention back to her. She glances at Eggsy who’s grinning at her proudly. He gives her an encouraging nod. She looks up at the audience.  
“Prime Minister, I would like to make a motion.” Roxy announces.  
The older man stands up quickly and joins her on the stage, “You may proceed with your motion, Princess.”  
“I would like to abolish the marriage law as it applies to present and all future queens.” Roxy informs the audience.  
“Will anyone from parliament second the Princess’s motion?” the Prime Minister asks.  
Roxy scans the audience, making sure to stare down each member of parliament. She refuses to show how nervous she is that this will all blow up in her face spectacularly.  
“I will second the motion,” Lord Basso states, and nothing could have prepared Roxy for that surprise, “It is time for me to stand on the right side of history.”  
“All those in favor of abolishing the marriage law, say Aye” the Prime Minister instructs.  
The member with a fake tan, shoots to his feet, “I say Aye.”  
Another member stands up and, with a certain nod, says “Aye.”  
One by one members vote aye. It might be the first time a group of men have agreed on anything. In the end only a handful of members vote nay.  
“Congratulations, Princess,” the Prime Minister says, “Your motion has passed.”


	10. Epilogue

“As per tradition, Princess Roxanne will now shoot a flaming arrow through a hoop. This represents her ability and willingness to work for a brighter future for Genovia.” the Prime Minister announces, and gestures to where Roxy is standing.  
The reporters’ cameras all turn to her. Roxy is just relieved that she was allowed to dress practically for this event. Her hair is up in a tight ponytail, and she’s wearing jeans and a blazer. She looks nice, and tidy, without having to sacrifice any movement for the sake of a dress.  
The hoop is illuminated just slightly so that she can see it in the dark. Next to her is a quiver of arrows, each one tipped with a flammable rag. Beside that is a fire pit so she can light the arrow just before launch.  
She hefts her bow with the appropriate amount of ceremony, as she was taught. She lines it up with the hoop, and gives the string a few experimental pulls. Then she turns, and selects an arrow from the quiver. She knocks it against the bow, then faces the fire pit. She lowers the tip into the flames licking up the side of the pit, and waits for it to light. Once it is engulfed in flame, she raises it again, and realigns it with the hoop.  
She closes her eyes, just briefly, then she opens them and sets her focus on the hoop. She pulls the arrow back, and Gazelle’s voice comes drifting back to her. Roxy can almost feel the warm sunshine from that afternoon on her skin.  
She relaxes her grip on the bow. She lowers her elbow just slightly, and drops her shoulder. She uses her mouth as an anchor. She takes a deep breath, and lets the world around her go quiet and still. Then she releases.  
The arrow whizzes free of the bow. It arcs through the air, leaving a trail of light behind it. The flames remain high despite the drag from the air. It sails ture. Time seems to drag into years as Roxy watches, but she’s sure it can’t be more than a few seconds. The arrow flies through the hoop, and Roxy’s breath catches in her chest as she waits for the hoop to light. Not a moment later, it explodes onto light with a woosh. The entire hoop is on fire. One perfect flaming ring against the dark sky of night.   
Roxy shouts in joy, and triumph. The witnesses burst into applause and cheers. Everyone is so proud to welcome their new queen to the world.  
The Prime Minister grins at her, obviously pleased about the news he now gets to deliver.  
“Princess Roxanne has lit the ring,” he announces, “She has proven that she was meant to rule this fair country. She was able to light the heart of Genovia. This test proves she does in fact have the best interests of our country at heart. I am pleased to announce that the coronation can continue. Wednesday morning, Genovia will welcome a new queen to the throne. And I for one, am pleased to usher in a new era.  
Congratulations, Princess. We are all very proud. I hope you serve us well.”  
The cameras all shut off for the night, and Roxy makes a beeline for the edge of the field. Eggsy, Harry, and her Uncles are all waiting for her. Eggsy is the one who manages to get the first hug.  
“I knew you could do it.” he whispers in her ear.  
Harry is next, “I did say you would make an amazing Queen of Genovia.”  
Her uncles say much the same.  
Roxy is floating. She’s done it. There is literally nothing to stop her coronation anymore. On wednesday, her Grandma will step down. On Wednesday, Roxy will be queen.  
*  
Roxy sits on the throne and glances around the throne room. It’s wild to think that in just a few hours, she’s being coronated. This room will be more than just one she visits when she needs to practice diplomacy. She’s incredibly pleased with herself. She sits back, grinning. Queen. She’s going to be queen. There’s no better feeling in the world.  
Faintly from down the hall, Roxy can hear whistling. Curious, she sits forward and peers around the corner of the civilian entrance. Gazelle emerges from the hallway, and smiles when she sees Roxy sitting on the throne.  
“Second thoughts?” she asks, teasing.  
“None at all.” Roxy answers firmly.  
Gazelle laughs, and Roxy is once again struck by how lovely she is. She’s wearing a suit, and it’s tailored immaculately. It hugs her frame in such a way that it shows the easy power she carries throughout it. It occurs to Roxy in that moment that Gazelle is probably a dancer.  
Gazelle takes a few steps forward and bows to Roxy, “Your highness may I have a moment of your time? I wish to air a grievance.”  
Roxy snorts as she recognizes the phrasing from the incident with the chicken getting loose in the throne room last time there was a civilian audience day.  
“Do you have a chicken for my table?” she asks, crossing her legs.  
Gazelle grins at her, “No. I am chickenless.”  
Roxy lets out a very put upon sigh, “Very well. You may air your grievance.”  
Gazelle sinks to one knee, as is custom, and looks up at Roxy, “My grievance is with you your highness.”  
“I see,” Roxy says tilting her chin up, “You should proceed with your complaint.”  
“Thank you, highness. You see, I can’t sleep at night. I wronged you not very long ago. However, I learned from my mistake. I did my best to fix the problems I created. I hope you can forgive me for that, highness.  
The problem is, that is not the reason I cannot sleep at night. It is because you are constantly running through my mind. My problem is that I have fallen for a future queen, who is now much far too above my station. I hold out hope that the queen can forgive me for what I did. I also hold out hope that perhaps, she might feel similarly to me.” Gazelle finishes, and glances hopefully up at Roxy.  
Roxy is momentarily stunned. She won’t lie, in the back of her mind she had hoped this day would come. But with Gazelle kneeling there, looking beautiful and perfect, it’s suddenly a lot more frightening than taking the crown. Gazelle’s face starts to fall, and that’s enough to convince Roxy to get a move on. She can’t keep thinking through every decision in her life. That is what politics is for.  
Roxy shoves herself off the throne, propelling herself forward. She runs down the steps, and Gazelle rises to meet her. They crash into each other in an awkward hug first.  
Gazelle pulls back, and runs her hands through Roxy’s hair, coming to a stop at her jaw. They hesitate for just a few seconds, taking in the fact that they really are here in this moment, then Gazelle pulls Roxy into a kiss. It’s a million times better than the one they had before they fell into the fountain. It’s rougher than the one at the lake.  
Roxy’s hands slide up Gazelle’s back and tangle in the hair at her shoulders. Gazelle pulls back and rests her head against Roxy’s with a soft laugh.  
“Am I forgiven?” Gazelle asks, somewhat breathless.  
“Do you really think I would be snogging you like this if you weren’t?” Roxy asks.  
Gazelle leans in for one more kiss, then steps away, “I will see you at the coronation.”  
*  
The brocade gown is heavy on Roxy’s shoulders as she stands waiting by the door. She clenches and unclenches sweaty fists as she waits.  
They’re holding coronation in the ballroom. Not every witness could fit in the throne room. It seemed like every dignitary and their mother wanted to come witness the historical moment. The acoustics of the ballroom give Roxy a perfect idea of when the ceremony starts. She can hear the military drumline echoing up to her, announcing that the members of the royal guard are taking their places. The head guard calls the troops to halt, and stand to attention.  
The doors swing open in front of her, and the first strains of the traditional coronation music play. She steps out onto the balcony, and across the way her Grandma does the same. They spare a moment to grin at each other, equally happy and sad in this moment. They face out towards the ballroom and Roxy takes everything in. All the witnesses are packed together at the edges of the room, but Eggsy, Harry, and her Uncles are all up front. In the center of the room two rows guards stand, facing each other, and creating an aisle between them.  
Roxy takes a deep breath, and takes the first step onto the stairs. She takes the first step into the rest of her future. She descends the stairs, careful to time her steps with her Grandma so that they arrive on the floor at the exact same time. The last step approaches more quickly than she could have imagined. She alights on the floor, and turns to face the stage, and her grandma. Her Grandma bows her head, and the priest carefully lifts the crown from her, leaving behind a circlet. Roxy ascends the steps onto the stage, and accepts the globus cruciger and scepter passed to her.  
She sits delicately on the edge of the throne. She holds her chin up proudly, and the priest turns towards her, crown in hand.  
“Do you solemnly promise to govern the people of Genovia according to the statutes that Parliament agreed upon, as well as the customs and traditions of the same? Will you in your power, cause law, and mercy, and justice to be executed in all judgements?”  
Roxy glances over at her grandma, and finds her smiling, eyes slightly misty. She gives Roxy a proud nod. Roxy finds Eggsy’s eyes in the crowd as well, and he grins broadly at her, just as encouraging as her grandma.  
Roxy looks out at the witnesses properly. Each one of them are hanging on every word, every motion. She nods once to the priest.  
“I, Roxanne Morton, solemnly swear so to do.” Roxy announces.  
The priest turns from the audience, and lowers the crown. It comes to rest on Roxy’s head. It’s heavier than she imagined. Her Grandma made wearing it look easy. Though, she supposes, that’s the trick to being queen. Carry the heaviest of burdens, and make it look easy. She rises from her seat, and reviews the guard standing below her. In just a few seconds she will be Queen of Genovia.  
The traditional music flows seamlessly into the national anthem. Every witness joins in the singing of the anthem. The leader of the guard once again calls for attention. Each guard draws their sword as one, and holds the point high in the air, creating a tunnel.  
Roxy descends from the platform as gracefully as she can. She pauses for a beat, then proceeds through the tunnel. Each step she takes, brings her closer to her rule. She reaches the end of the tunnel just as the national anthem ends.  
“Now presenting Roxanne Diana Williams Morton, Queen of Genovia.” the crier announces, and taps his staff twice.  
The crowd erupts into cheers, and loudest of them all is Eggsy.  
“Long Live Queen Roxy!”


End file.
